Is it not interesting, the way a single daisy grows through a crack in the sidewalk?
Layer upon layer of cement and sweat and exertion were
Smoothed into place there and were never meant to be disturbed my man’s efforts.
Yet, it is all undone by a delicate white flower.
I grew the same way;
Under the oppression of generations of pain
Solidified into a man and a woman.
I toiled under poisonous fumes and weight that I carried like a concrete slab
On my shoulders;
In my heart.
These are places, in which flowers and children are not meant to grow,
Yet somehow they thrive on nothing more than their own
We thrive because we endure.
We cast the ugliness from our lives as an archer casts an arrow from her bowstring:
We are the unlucky and incredible few who can stare into the unseeing and cold eyes
Of a concrete sidewalk
You will not suppress me.
I am the daisy growing through the crack in your unbreakable mechanism.
My hands are small, but they are righteous and true
And I will scrape away the walls in my mind that have long been coated
With your desperate perversion
And the salty sheen of my shame.
I will wrench the ceiling off of my dismal sepulcher,
Throw my face into the warmth of daylight,
And breathe the air that you deprived me of.
Flowers, like humans, are ephemeral in nature.
We are, all of us, ever-changing,
We are roses blooming brightly and brilliantly before casting off our vibrant robes
For the brittle coat of winter.
We are poppies swaying and serenely unperturbed by all,
Save for a change in the direction of the warm summer wind.
We are daisies, white and plain as day, though more complex
To those who see us for what we are.
We grow through cracks in sidewalks.