I wish I could be the perfect flower,

the one that everyone looks at in awe and jealousy

But, I know it does not work that way.

As I get drowned by the pelting rain, 

the piercing thorns strike my image.

I weep helplessly,

longing to be the perfect flower.

I find comfort not from the rays of the sun,

but from the haze of the faint, beaming moon.

As I lay awake in the never-ending darkness,

a worthless shadow.

I hide,

Hoping 

the rain doesn’t drown me,

Praying

the thorns don’t cut me.

Make it stop, I say

Why won’t it stop, I yell

Please, I scream!

With my weeping petals,

falling to the ground,

From the disapproving glares, 

and the damaging insults

I feel myself slipping deeper into the glow of the moon.

Hold me up, I say

Don’t fall down, I yell

Make me grow, I scream!

With my head bowed, and my petals lifeless

I see my true form,

my roots.

My mother, my father, my aunts, and uncles

are in these roots.

As I confront the moon,

she reminds me of who I am,

she sees me.

I am me, 

I am my mother,

and I am my father.

I am my roots.

My roots, I say

My roots, I yell

My roots, I scream

Stare at me, ridicule me, rip at my petals

with your petty words and condemnations.

But know this,

My roots are mine and mine alone;

My roots are what keep me alive,

And my roots are who I am.