i was cut cloth, half-sewn

from a mother who didn’t know her last name

but knew wealth as it came from parent’s privileged pockets,

licked fortune like purple pomegranate juice

from effete fingertips.


i was nurtured

by a father who knew poor like the alphabet,

grew up tasting powder in his milk and

watched the world from beside the heater, where

it’s cold was not a complaint.


i am paid bills and maniac hands under couch cushions,

out-of-state tuition and student loans,

detroit summers and missouri winters,

a boy who never learned his own address

and a girl who knew hers by heart.


now i am the product of merit,

brown eyes that take the world for granted.

i am clipped lawns that will never know

hand-me down houses,

but my father tells me not to forget. 

privilege, through 

my parents eyes

Life of a Wallflower


Hi! Welcome to Life of a Wallflower, a place for introverts, artists, writers and most importantly, self-proclaimed wallflowers. My hope in creating this site is that people like me, who feel adrift in this chaotic world we call home, can have a place -- a garden -- of their own.


©2020 by Life of a Wallflower.