There aren’t any white tulips 

given to me when I get home.

After all of the storms,

after all of the pain, 

trickling slowly down my face,

I deserve white tulips.

Somehow, when I get white tulips 

they’re already brown and withered.

Their petals sliding off one by one.

I need one that stays forever.

I deserve white tulips.

Calming the mind on a cloudy day,

jamming the storm on my face, 

masking the pain. 

I deserve white tulips. 

The more I seem to ask,

the more brown they get each time I receive them. 

With their roots cut off 

the dryness was steadily making its way up.

The more I seem to ask for them freshly bloomed,

the more their petals are drooping down. 

But I deserve white tulips,

right? 

The final time I ask,

there are no petals. 

Leaving it to be just the stem.

An empty tulip.

Left in a dark room,

with no sunlight, 

to die. 

With no understanding.

Do I even deserve white tulips?