To Be a Wildflower

I. The word rang in my ears like a loud bell, So painful it was, I couldn’t even bear, Like the word “stupid” that became my cell, Both locked me up in self-doubt without care. It pained me more than I had imagined, Maybe because it’s true. Maybe I am. Maybe I am a wimp whose gone maddened, Maddened because I can’t deny goddamn. These harsh words tear me down from limb to limb, For I can’t forget these dark words that ding, Constantly, dinging in this cell that’s grim, These words laugh and mock me like they are king. As the cell narrows itself around me, A stupid and wimp me is all I see. II. I’m not perfect, which is certainly true, Not even renowned credibility, Nor even the best and the greatest too, Yet I hope you see potential in me. To say those words I yearn to hear from you. To be loved in all body, mind and soul, To not give up despite what storms may brew, But why didn’t hearing those words make me whole? It is a wildflower I must become, To care and grow myself, I must be brave, No matter how withered and deep in slum, I will feel the rays in the life she gave. Thus, may I be a soul or a flower, To learn self-love comes with blooming power. - Illustration by Melanie Tran