Kexi Week 4: The Crack in the Asphalt

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I stand beside her and admire 

the quiet grace of her existence—

as the bees land delicately 

amid her fragile petals

that mankind covets so dearly.

At first,

I pitied myself.

I wondered, 

as I stood perpetually ignored

in the cold, untouched soil— 

for weeks,

for months,

for years:

Why must I grow—

Only to feel apologetic for my own existence, and 

shunned by the earth that bore me?

But after years of observing her

being snapped

over and over,

just to be esteemed impermanently

by the greediness

of the eyes and hands of man,

I felt pity for her.

Time etched its lines;

her splendor rotted,

and she was swept aside faster

than she was chosen—

Yet she blooms again,

rooted in the truth

that she owes the world

nothing but her presence.

I considered that, perhaps,

I am no less impressive than her;

I rose

from the suffocating cracks in the asphalt

of the busy city street,

heavily trampled 

and pushed down to my roots

over and over.

Yet, I rise again,

becoming closer to the blazing sun

with every hit.

So, as I stand beside her and admire 

the quiet grace of her existence—

and watch as the bees 

continue to land delicately 

amid her fragile petals,

that mankind covets so dearly,

and as I stand,

perpetually ignored, 

for weeks,

for months,

for years—

I question less 

of my existence, 

or my worth for my stem to be torn,

nor worry about the smallest trivialities

and pity myself to death over things

I once wished I had.