Feelings On Paper

My Flower

When I went to my private catholic school, there was no sex education. They taught you the basics of your organs, talked vaguely of how it's done, and told girls that they should wait till marriage to have sex. I remember my science teacher using this analogy that seems to be commonly used one in catholic and christian schools according to the media.

"You are a flower, and each time you have sex with a person, they take a petal. If you have sex with people before marriage, once you actually get married, there won't be a flower left."

To me, it never made sense. What they said could take your petals away, had already happened with a boy much older than me when I was in the 1st grade... 2nd... and 3rd. I never believed what school taught me, and I never thought that boy had taken a petal of my flower... he had taken more than one in those three years, it felt.

They spoke about how just a BOY touching your flower could be considered as another petal done. But then what about a GIRL? I started wondering then if my flower would be intact if I had a GIRL touch me.  I've had plenty of encounters with BOYS, and they always seem to be the ones that took petals from my flower, not GIRLS. As I grew up, renounced the catholic church, and accepted the fact I'd never marry anyways, I came to understand the petals weren't taken by the act of sex., and my flower was not a "freshness seal" to my vagina.

My flower was my soul, the petals being part of it. Sometimes the petals were so small, they'd go almost unnoticed. Sometimes, though, the petals were so big, they'd make my flower rot.  Sure, sex could rip petals straight out my body and stomp on them like I never mattered... but that was usually when it was unwanted.

The things that most ripped petals out, were people. Not BOYS, not GIRLS, just people.

A girl in the locker room telling everybody I was a "boobless freak" ripped just 1 petal, but it's a petal that I could never regain back and a petal I will miss most even after 8 years of hearing her say that. My father showing his true self ripped just 1 as well, and as time went on, it was a petal I learned to live without. A friend choosing others over me, took 1, but as years passed, she gave it back—damaged, but it was stitched back nonetheless.

A boy in the hallways of school, pinning me against a wall and telling me I was his, ripped 2. Just 2, weirdly enough. Students agreeing amongst one another that my voice and accent were funny, took 2, and with those, most of my voice went away. Overhearing close friends call me ANNOYING took 2, teared them to pieces, and threw them away with my heart.

My mother's drunken words took 3, she put back 1, and the other 2, I purposely hid away from my flower. I knew keeping those petals away would be the only thing that would keep my flower from dying...

A boy who's life I wanted to be in so badly, took 3, only to a year later, put them back in place with "I'm sorry." But it wasn't long before the big leagues came.

There was that utter CHILD that took 4. Each one a different way. The first he plucked and placed so gently on the coffee table. The second he took without asking and shoved it into his pocket. The third he forcefully shook and took without me knowing and hid in his drawers. The fourth he carved into his skin.

A best friend, no longer wanting to be associated with me, took 2, one she kept as a memory, and the second, took my will to make more friends with it.

There was a MAN, one that was my own doing. One that had I stayed, had I thought through, would not hurt to this day. I gave him 1 petal, but it was such a big petal, I wonder how he keeps it. Did he fold it nicely and keep it bedside? Did he leave it on the ground for his dog to eat? Did he even acknowledge I gave him my petal? Does he even know that I wish I could get that petal back after all this time?

There was the boy who's petals I know I took, it's like we traded. I know I ripped a whole handful of his while he gently took 1.

There was him, who didn't take petals, he took the buds that were ready to grow into something new and wonderful, the ones to a brighter future... I actually cut those myself with the sharpest scissors I could find, in hopes that he'd be able to reconstruct his own flower without me.

Then there was me, who chose life for my flower wasn't meant to be beautiful anymore. So many petals, buds, taken or cut away whether they were by my hands or theirs.

They never tell you in Catholic school that you can remove the stem, and let your flower rot within you. Nobody can take anymore petals, no buds, no leaves, not even thorns... there's none left, I made sure of it.

My flower, I realized, was too fragile. Better sealed away before it dies sooner than later.