Sickly

I sometimes imagine my whole world turning inside out so that I would be free to shine. 
A death I don't want to allow keeps on choking me. 
Each of you, could you breathe to my lungs just one healthful breath? 
I know you would—and in a lighter world, it's possible. 
For this faith and you, I retain my green. 
Every day, I keep watering what's left of me.
I feel a bursting of my pod with the soft aliveness of a slow-growing vine. 
I want to sprout my delicate shoots and tendrils up and around your limbs without stifling your flow—
You must move freely. 
I want to make you lovelier yet as I curl a leaved reach to decorate your throat—
I promise you will be styled well. 
Don't pull me off and break me apart in haste.
Taste my freshly ripened fruit—It's yours. 
Don't forget me in the severe seasons, when I'm losing the fight of my flesh—
when my lush fruits dry up and fall to be trampled upon and my canes crumble to the soil. 
Oh please don't forget me—
I'm a small flash of your gleaming life force—a remnant flicker of a white dwarf.
It fades into the glaring light of day, but it always remains. 
My deep-rooted perennial bulb lives under your feet. 
Hold my modest glow in a worry-stone and my sweet morsels in a glass jar on your pantry shelf. 
If someday you can't find me, keep looking.
Please don't give up so soon.