In the garden she stands,
seeking kinder hands.

She wilted,
drained from light and water.
All that she was sucked from her.
She watched as the others bloomed,
those she once adored.

Amidst those petals, whispers cold.
They grew as she drooped.
She yearned to bloom,
longing to break free from the cold terrain.
Reaching for the beams of warmth
in the hopes of company, and gentler, kinder hands.

She found comfort in the hands of the sun.
there she was able to bloom,
away from seeds who deceived.

No longer rooted in the toxic soil.
She felt the wash of fresh rain fall.
There her roots deepened in fertile soil.

She felt the gentle pull of growth,
her journey to bloom into her fullest self.

Ximena Acosta