At some point, I decided I wasn’t worth knowing.

My limbs desperately grasped at the wind while my body yearned for touch

Seeds of potential spilled on the concrete

My mask fused to my skin under the heat of others opinions

This quarter century has taught me two things;

Flowers grown in my own garden, in my own soil, will bloom brighter than the dead ones handed to my by strangers with good intentions.

and two, I am as worthy as the sun of being admired