A thing I wrote last week...

I'm sorry that I was
Too much for you to handle.
But you wanted a bonsai;
Something you could prune,
Meticulously trimming back
Until a shape pleasing to you
Would emerge.
Instead, I am a wildflower
Spoiled by handling
But thriving in the sun and fresh air;
Blooming loud and shameless
On a hillside for all to see.