The Flowers I Grew Anyways

They told me nothing good could grow here,

not from this kind of soil, not after that kind of storm.

But they didn’t know how often I’ve whispered to the dirt: “Just one more try.”

They didn’t know how many nights I wept into silence and still woke up with enough hope to water something.

No one saw the seeds I buried while I was breaking.

They don’t understand what it took to become soft again after everything tried to make me hard.

The garden I tend doesn't look like much to those who only value the tidy and trimmed,

but I know what it’s made of.

I know that the roots were born in grief.

I know the petals carry my pain like perfume.

These flowers? They grew in ash, They grew in drought,

they grew when I didn’t think I would.

So still, I bloomed.

Not because I was unbroken, but because I refused to stay buried.