Poets is powered by Vocal creators. You support Lauren Griffith by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less


Or “Pick Me”

Flowers grow through dirt.

Seeds are planted in the dirt and are expected to evolve and transform through the darkness.

Hoping someone remembers to water them, they grow blindly through the dirt.

They feed off the dirt, blossoming into their own unique design.

Finally they are ready to show off for the world.

After all the growth and change and uncertainty, they open their petals and say here I am.

Some say that if you love a flower you don’t pick it, you let it be and nurture it.

I was a flower.

A rare seedling that spent much of her time growing through dirt.

My journey to bloom was a long one and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be ready to let anyone admire my petals.

But one day a man saw me for my unique beauty and he praised it.

He showered me with attention and affection.

I wanted more than anything to be admired after my struggles underground.

So I cried, “pick me pick me.”

And he did.

But he was selfish.

Instead of watering me and allowing others to also appreciate my beauty, he plucked me for himself.

He tore up my roots, the roots that took so long to relax in the earth and find their place in the garden.

He could have re-planted me.

Given me a chance to grow and bloom for him, for us.

Instead I was taken inside and placed in a vase.

And there I was left without sunlight.

I started to wilt.

I put all my energy into staying alive for you.

Waiting patiently for some soil or fresh water.

I watched you pick other flowers and bring them inside to join me.

There we all sat, your collection of vases.

Each new flower was valued for her rare petals, unique aroma, and natural beauty.

As time went on I watched you give away your affection.

The others received more attention than me.

My petals soon began to fall and then one day.

The last.



You could have just let me be in the garden.

Walked right past me and selected another flower.

You could have chosen to help me grow.

Been accountable for the life you plucked.

But instead you took me to satisfy a short-term need for temporary beauty.

And now I no longer exist.

Now I am extinct. 

Now Reading
Read Next