Wilting: A Metaphor for Social Anxiety

Here I wilt,
once planted in a garden of my peers
now marginalized, ostracized,
needless and seedless,
barren in an ocean of pollen,
with rotting roots and parasites
feasting on my chlorophyll.
Here I wilt,
shrivelling, jealousy watching
the roots of others lapping water,
soaking and splashing,
flaunting each precious droplet
with sighs and laughter
that echo to my resting place in the shade
where I watch, craving sunshine
and companionship.
Here I wilt,
remembering my seedling life,
growing nostalgic for the shell
I was once curled inside
and wondering how I came to be
a nuisance more than a decoration,
a weed more than a flower.
Here I wilt;
I curl my petals up,
drop my long-dead leaves
and glare accusingly at the elusive sun
as she shakes her flaming head and tells me
I could have instead made the choice
to bloom.