living in my flower

I've been living in this flower
and it feels like home.
Gold dust sticks to the wrinkles on the bottom of my feet
but never tickles my nose enough to make me sneeze,
only enough to make me feel something.

Living here is beautiful and whenever I think differently
I am quick to be corrected because who wouldn't want this?
My walls are perfect petals, long and smooth with
perfectly spaced nourishing lines forming a path
leading me to the sky.

I lean into the walls and even though they don't move
they are still soft.
I quickly forget why I was leaning into them in the first place - a cycle.
Light leaks through lapping lines and long lengths of lace
I can't remember wanting to get out of here.