Tiny purple flowers.
A little patch.
A smattering of colour.
Standing out amidst the buttercups and daisies.
Tiny but vibrant.
Unashamed.
Faces turned upwards.
Outwards.
Chins raised high.
Shoulders back.
Embodying their queen or king.
Speaking from their hearts.
Being who they are.
Not trying to imitate the buttercup.
Not pretending to be the lucky clover.
Not wearing a mask of scary.
Trying to copy the nettles.
They are who they are.
Small,
Delicate little pops of lavender-coloured beauty.
A reminder.
Be who you are.
You are the gentleness of the fern.
The spikiness of the thistle.
The in-your-face,
I-am-here brightness of the buttercup.
You are the fragility of the dandelion clock and the flexibility of the reed.
You are the beauty and the softness of each of the flowers in the field.
But also the sting and the spike of the nettle and the thorn.
You are the fragrance of the rose and the stench of the cowpat.
Be who you are.
Small and vibrant.
Sharp and stinky.
But face outwards.
Chin high.
Unashamedly the queen,
The king.
Speaking from the heart.
The truth.
No imitating.
Be vibrant.
Be scary.
Be unashamed.
Be you.
