They say I am a petal on our family's flower. Each one is supposed to be equally soft and solid and beautiful.
But it's not true. At least not here.
How is it that we are equal when one's judgment is based on another's? The petals that grew before me were indeed as beautiful as they should be despite the difference in size and color. But every petal can get swept in the wind.
They say they are proud in large groups but lies just show the truth of the matter and the truth of the matter is they are not proud when the conversation has no audience. The stem says things that it shouldn't. It assumes that because the wind has tainted bits of another that I must also be questioned and distrusted because I am a petal just like everyone else.
Every flower of a family has lies hidden in the shadows as the sun sinks below the tree line. The truth is that we are not all equally soft and solid and beautiful. Our textures vary, our colors blend in because they are not the same, these families, these flowers are because the mistakes made and learned from are beautiful.
I'm just waiting for my flower of a family to grow up.
