Erin Settlemier (she/her)
Editorial Team Member

My expectations of love blossomed from movies and books. 

However, the seeds of expectations watered by perfect fairytale stories were subsequently drowned by reality.

Oh, what a cruel thing reality is.

Maybe I’m just saying this because I’m bitter.

A wilting flower amongst a garden of roses. 

I wonder if I’m more of a dandelion than a rose.

Soft lips whisper secret desires- but always of other girls they admire.

They make a wish, and I drift away.

a weed that never has the chance to blossom into a flower.

The stepping stone to a happily ever after that isn’t mine.

Petals tear away, she loves me, she loves me not. 

But she’s not me.

Always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. 

Maybe if I was as colorful as a chrysanthemum, or as exotic as a tiger lily… 

but people rarely see the beauty in the common.

It’s the prettiest flowers that are always picked first.

I’m not some eye-catching bouquet. 

my charms lay not on the outside but flower quietly out of sight. 

In a shallow world who will look beyond?

The plants start to wither as the wind grows cold.

I hope when spring flourishes once more, It may finally be my chance to blossom.