From an outside point of view it would seem like I was simply a sunflower basking in the rugs of the everlasting sun.
Yellow petals, brown seeds, accompanied by a green stem and leaves.
And somehow even I had been constrained by the thought of man,
As if someone had wrapped my roots with an anchor and dropped me down a desolate and shallow well. The water and mud that inhibited it only allowing me very little room to grow.
So much so, that I began to envision myself in that light all the same.
My mind washed over like a tide on an isolated and narrow beach.
With each speak of my individuality being grasped into the careless sea.
But with closer inspection I came to realize the necessity in my silently perceived existence.
They don’t see the multiple shades of brown seeds engrossed in my body and the cure I put into protecting them.
They don’t see the colored petals that freely flow from my head and hear the triumphant cries I let out while witnessing their growth.
They don’t see the texturized ridges and spikey fibers that emerge from my stem and how I use them to learn from the world surrounding me.
They don’t see the mauve bruised effort put into nursing my leaves, so that they as well may view the world as I do.
They don’t see the colors of my soul.
Baltimore Beat is running poems from participants in the group Writers in Baltimore Schools, which offers programming that builds skills in literacy and communication while creating a community of support for young writers.