Vined Expectations

Vined Expectations

Wow. My height really does matter 

the shape of my leaves

the pigment of my petals

meters and centimetres 

forming miles of vines 

with blossoming flowers  

the pressure of perfection,

pesticides and herbicides, when on the inside

making me no longer see the sunlight,

covering up my truth

Wow. How small I feel

even though I am the last one, season after season, lost hope 

after storms of silence, and hurricanes of lies 

Oh. How I wish my roots were enough, how my words had meant something, my infinite leaves could pave a way to my freedom

but, as always 

He,  

The gardener-

He sets the path which I grow

But not bloom.

A poem by AFC Ambassador Anali