By Nyasa Gupta, Honorable Mention of “The Roar”‘s Middle School Spring Writing Contest!
That seed, so little and small,
Caressed and buried in the warm soil,
Was placed next to the wall,
Near where the workers worked and toiled.
She lay like an angel,
Nestled under those soft covers,
Her mom rushing to her jewel,
Prepared to be her first lover.
What was once a small seed,
Now is a dainty, little bud,
Yearning to open its petals indeed,
With nutrients gained from sweet mud.
“But why?” cried the child,
As her mother drove her to
the first day of school, and into the wild,
Shocked at how fast her child grew.
That bright, profound bloom,
Leans to the side and then droops,
Even though its scent is sweet perfume,
It wilts in eternal loops.
She looks in the mirror,
Crying over what she sees,
Giving up her breakfast. her lunch. her dinner,
The hurt in her soul pulling her to her knees.
that complete darkness
mind-bending form of pitch-black
swallowing, consuming
i scream in my pain
this absurd mental breakdown
how do I move past?
“most useless person
i’ve ever met in my life”
they must have exclaimed
no. no. no. i can't.
i must accept that this grief
will be forever
and so — i say no
Yet the flower persists, it recovers,
It rises past the darkness, its phase of frustration,
And eventually once more, it blooms and discovers,
Its own beauty in elation.
Then, she looks around herself, and notes,
The grace that lay within her pose,
She understands that she never needed anyone’s votes.
…And her name was Rose
The Roar 