A seed. Packed away in some dark area. Unknown of its surroundings. The unknown emptiness of the quiet yet relaxing field of wonder. Movement. Growth. Additions begin to form and rise above. Grow larger. Higher into this field of darkness.
Darkness. It falls. Light begins to shine. It shines on the seed. Something so small but yet has grown because of this lack of particular delight of reality. It continues to grow. Taller and taller the stem rises into the light. The darkness continues to fade. Growth. It spreads throughout the sides, the middle, the bottom. A flower.
A flower. Most expect a beautiful flower. Something that catches the eyes of others. Something that flows with reality, yet stops time. Diversity. This flower is very different. The petals are torn. The stem is bent. The middle is dented in. It matters.
It matters. It blossoms. The middle. The seeds. They are seen. The admiration is a usual reaction when the flower gets noticed. It was noticed. Not because of the beautiful, colorful reaction that people had with it, but because of the negative flaws it showed when it was opened.
It was opened. The negativity couldn’t be overlooked. It shuttered. The amount of disgrace it gave people was remembered. A band. Wrapped around the petals. Closed tight. Tighter than a seed. Packed away in some dark area.
In some dark area this flower grew. This flower was me.
