To Whose Destiny Are We Being Summoned

have you ever felt like a bloom?

I often feel like a stem

acknowledging the presence of the breeze

of the suspicious air conditioning

vent

nearby

(indifference)

I am the stick (perhaps

I use to be a stem)

plunged into 

moss

soil

medium

I am not conferred;

a symbiotic relationship:

I hold a plant clip [which - 

mind you - was never a stick,

stamen, or stem, but plastic]

[this is not my Purpose]

next to the stem

to statuesquely support it's apparent stature

[but in all honesty

in the hypothetical hierarchy

of the overall prevalence of this particular plant

(including its beautiful,

obnoxious blooms) 

which is higher:

me, or the plant clips?]

[this is how I feel]

and its blooms

on a good day

I forget myself

I just look up

and breathe

well

either way, I breathe

just like renting a room