Every Flower Must Grow Through Dirt


United States
37° 20' 44.2428" N, 121° 53' 4.9992" W

Soil harsh and fierce like the winter winds,
You pushed, and were pushed back,
Back into the darkness where it all began,
You insisted, demanded, and your tenacious attitude only led you back to the silent darkness,
You screamed through your veins and scratched with your developing thorns,
As you learned that in order to pass you must let the sun burn,
Scarred and bruised black and blue,
No hope, No hope,
But the teardrops that fell from heaven moistened the soil and made you cleaver,
You squirmed and squiggled like the worms in the spring moving quickly but slow enough
to repass every last struggle that you left behind,
Afraid to expand your roots and dare to make the soil your provider,
Times are better,
Pretty little flower you are no longer fragile you are no longer weak,
You grow and adapt to the heat and the wind,
And make the seasons your friends,
You've allowed the smallest of creatures to taste and share what you give,
You doubt the presence of the sun because you never had a sure thing in your presence,
Unable to see your reflection and see the real beauty you hide deep inside,
Your roots keep you from collapsing like the skeleton and veins of a human body,
The rough winds whisper your fears that remind you of the darkness and your stem hovers over the soil like an immediate reaction


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