This is me then, little miss fairy cactus being
A cactus is independent. It doesn't need much and it survives. It can do it on its own. Even if you offer nothing, it won't die. That used to be me in relationships; I could do it on my own. I'd try enough for both of us. I'd withstand the shit and take the minimum and manage. And -the irony!- when someone actually tried to genuinely offer me the real deal, love, care and attention, (aka, water to a cactus) I thought I was being played. And I'd drown.
Like I said, I used to be a (fucking) cactus.
But no so much anymore. After being dried up in the sun for so many years, I guess I evolved, developed a series of mutations that make me want to seek water, shade, breeziness and coolness instead of the hot hard sunbeams.
This little (fucking) cactus is not in emotional Kansas anymore.
I grew flowers.
I became one. A black orchid; a challenge to grow but easy to raise. Sensitive to touch, to too much sunlight but imposing and powerful to look at. A black orchid; mysterious, elegant but also an endangered species.
Yeah. I'm a (fucking) black orchid.
I need love, care and attention. And I'm now looking for those qualities. I need water and I ask for it. I'll show you how vulnerable I am. I won't bite; I no longer have needles and thorns. Only velvet black petals. There are a gazillion flowers out there, but only recently I have started to understand that I am one in my own right, in my own individuality and should be taken care of, exactly because of that.
And most importantly, that I'm worth it.
I used to be a cactus. But I've bloomed into something else.