You’re like me, Tulip.

Origin is the Asias of the world,
but can flourish global.
How we’ve found ourselves here,
dumbfounded.
You’re common red.
Well, I’m brown, but
same family, Tulip.
You need warmth, but
grow in extreme cold.
Winters root you.
Winters root me.
If change happens too quick, splitting peril.
My personality, too.
We suffer when we’re overflown.
You flower daughters in the spring
and I hope the same.
Our stems break in abrupt
cold treatments (indifference)
and
rising, unapologetic heat (ignorance).
Bull-nosing is your disorder,
when you fail to expand.
I don’t have a name
when I fail to expand.

Stand stern, Tulip,
and give me a name
if I fail you,
if I fail to expand.