• New York, New York

Wallflowers, Sunflowers & Petals

In an ocean of people, I am a survivor. Survivor of death, a survivor of life.I am on my 21st lap around the sun and I set alarms, that wake me up on a daily, with different labels that encourage gratitude on seeing another day. But life has its way of swallowing you whole then spitting you back out, and I would be damned to condemn myself of credit of doing this well and getting this far. I am a survivor of darkness, a survivor of society. Some people call it stubborn, perhaps even being a rebel, but I have chosen to live my life as I see fit. Through the journey of emotional rollercoasters and episodes of pain that has consumed me, my generation, and generations to come, rest in peace to the lost souls and the cut veins, but I still stand with vision oh-so-bright, and unmarked.

In the midst of the broken, I am broken but bandaged. Stitched up by my faith, my hopes, and my dreams. I am a child of god, and you do not mess with God’s kids. Life is a tree, and the fruit you reap is based upon the seeds that you sow. I envision the blinding light at the end of the tunnel, no matter the despairing obstacles or the defeatists’ voices in the wind. Many are lost but I am found. Found in my sanity, in tidal waves of peace, in rays of sunshine. In the myths of energy, feels, and vibe, my chi is undisturbed.

In a bucket filled with ice cubes, I am warm. Warm at heart, in my smile, my shiny eyes, in my soul. Hatred, envy, cursing upon others, is a poison that you yourself drink. It causes no harm to your opponent, it kills you silently, kills you slowly. I am a riddle. Usually misunderstood, often hard to figure out, but as a result, rewarding. Anyone who is discouraged by the process of decoding me, is not worth keeping.

I lack the talent of whispering, I stand with a voice that penetrates and echoes. Opinionated, honest, and pure. My person includes a package which offers aggressiveness, sharp-witted comebacks, and curse words. I am a rose with thorns, but from a garden that heals. A garden that grew through the cracks of grave and gray concrete, where you find people like me. Beneath the zenith, past the pouring clouds, you will find me. Grounding up the sticks and stones thrown at me, forming shelter. Shelter for the wallflowers, fallen sunflowers, and dried up love-me-not petals. I am a source, a force, a breath of fresh air. A source of goodness, and a force of empowerment. Seeking to help, seeking to make whole.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

css.php