In the silence of a warm afternoon, I bloom. Gently, gently, unfurling every petal with care.
In the soft goldenness of the sun-caressed terrace, I cut off all my thorns. I put them aside. And though it is in my nature for them to regrow, I, for once, want to not be painful to hold.
Resiliently, as the clouds rove by, I unearth nearby weeds and shake off sharp-teethed bugs that feed off of me. Maybe it’s not all my fault, after all, that it took so long for my colours to show.
I lean towards the sun, seeking out its warm touch and gentle glow. It’s okay to take space and need things. How else could I hope to grow?
Careful still, but at ease, I bend with the wind, making an awkward partner for a dance, but dancing all the same.
I stand, a little shy, a little proud and say to the world:
“You can look now, I’m not hiding anymore.”
Note: Day 6 of ‘NaNoWriMo’
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