My petals would shine
With a beam of light-
A soft pink hue, or perhaps yellow-
With not a single wilt.
I used to feel my strength
From the cry of the great big clouds above,
Telling me it was all I’d ever need to survive,
Filling me with strength and laughter to shine.
But now I’m burnt out,
Dried up and brown,
And all I ever do now is wilt,
With everything in me
Being squeezed out.
Every last drop of strength turning frail,
Every last drop of joy becoming misery,
Every last reason to survive withering,
As if it were blown away.
Every last strand of hope changing to despair,
Because this is draining me out
Of anything left inside me.
And the pressure of being bright and big was all too much-
And dried me out before the sun could.
So I no longer rebloom every spring,
But remain the same-
Small and wilted,
Dried and brittle.
‘Cause how can I become a big, bright flower
With the pressure and weight flooding over me,
Like an overwatering disaster?
‘Cause let me breathe,
Let me shine,
Let me find a reason-
Something, just something, to survive.
‘Cause I used to shine, used to be so bright,
When
I
Was
A
Bright
Flower.
But now I’m just
One
Dried,
Wilted,
Flower,
Who could no longer survive
In this climate of pressure to shine.
--Maryana P., 9th-12th Grade