Blooming Out Of Order

I didn’t bloom when they said I would.

I didn’t rise in the spring or follow the sun like I should.

I cracked open in the cold,

roots tangled, petals unsure.

They said I was late,

wrong,

wilted before I began.

Yet, I bloomed anyway.

Out of season,

out of step,

out of silence.

And still,

I am radiant.

Still, I am mine.