The Painting of Ophelia

she floats, eyes half-lidded, lulled by water’s touch,

a bloom torn from its stem, drifting, aimless—

like me, beneath the weight of your absence,

pulled under, breathless

the river cradles her in petals: violets,

pansies, pale roses—soft whispers of duty,

of expectations Ophelia could not meet,

like the marriage they promised would save her

I, too, carry the burden of blooms:

chrysanthemums of achievement,

ivy of promises, entwined too tight—

roots choking, tightening, suffocating,

a bouquet I can’t set down, even as I drown

my family presses success like

congratulatory roses to my chest,

each petal of their hopes wilting

under the waterline—

because I’m sinking, just like Ophelia,

doomed by their designs,

lost in currents of what I cannot be

I loved you—did you ever notice?

or did my affections fade like daisies

crushed beneath careless hands,

drowned in a river I never meant to enter?

each word unspoken fills my lungs,

each failure blooms like a lily in my throat,

and I, like her, am consumed by waters

that reflects only what approaches the surface

so I drift, surrendering to the stream,

and the weight of flowers that won’t let me go