I’ve felt like this flower
letting everything overpower.
But the sun shone bright beams
Drying up the dark shower.
Delicate petals brush the mud off
As the face looks up to the sun.
Where once this flower knelt,
It’s the power of its roots it felt.
And with effort it stood up
To the wind and the rain.
Nothing could bend this stem
For this flower knows its own power.
I wrote this poem last year in May. It’s taken me a lot of steps, but I’m not lodged in place. I feel the sun on my face.