Without the Need to be Called Flower
Grown, I am, in physicality
But mentally molded, I am, by your philosophy
I sat, child-like, eyes wide
Absorbing every mannerism
How I will grow myself
Away from gardens of colloquial blossoms
Just as you grew yourself
In desiccated dirt
And later came to understand
The mountain who raised you
Bold and beautiful
Without the need to be called flower.
© KavaraStories. All Rights Reserved.