Ma Petite Fleur

Tender is the bud of the flower growing from the grass fractures in my concrete heart.
When the world felt too threatening, I sealed it away; entombed it behind layered barbed wire.
Isolation does a strange thing to the heart and I felt it turn to solid stone from the inside out.
From where the seed originated will remain the world’s biggest enigma - the eighth wonder.
Or how it crept its way through strategized protections, turning sadness to fertilized soil.
What sustenance it bloomed from is a mystery to me, as I often felt I had nothing to offer
Other than a hole where the soul should be, a heavy chest and eyes dried like the Sahara.

Yet, here it stands.

Will my sour grow this flower thorns? Will I leave it malnourished? Will my dark kill it first?

Will I attempt carefully tending to delicate petals but find myself too heavy handed?

Or will I remain captivated by its presence or ability to grow from what was once desolate?
Will I water it daily? Will I use the light it emits to spark a sun in myself to grow it further?

As its roots spread, wrapping tightly around my heart, I feel a rapid beat replace the dead.
I feel its echo against my ribcage, the blood rushing to pale cheeks, emotions stirring
Until a smile long forgotten springs to my lips as the floodgates open, drowning me in new.

I’ve never had much of a green thumb, never cared for something so gorgeous as this.
Despite the many questions I hold - how am I deserving, is it my imagination - I cherish it,
That who has melted a heart of pure steel and given life to a girl who had already given up.

Ma petite fleur.