Flowers need the Earth, the ground, to be flowers
But the ground is still the ground without the flower
The flower does remain the flower, when plucked. Once a pretty little thing to look upon, but soon wilting, dying.
The ground doesn’t need anything to be itself. It is always the ground.
If someone asks nicely, I will be their ground. Sturdy. Holding. Or better yet, I will be grounded beside someone the same.
I am no one’s mother fucking flower.