The Mind of a Black Girl

Flower

I ask you to choose,
holding them in my hands.

The sharp thorns rip at my skin,
small droplets of blood settling in
onto the wooden floors.

You stare at my left hand,
it standing proudly with
it's stem straight as ever,
the petals intensely bright and
the sweet scent fresher.

It seems to be touched with grace
with its petals as intricate as lace
as if spun by the Fates.

Your head shifts to the right
and you stare at the poor thing
that hangs low and can barely cling
to the life it has left.

The roots are shriveled
and the petals seem brittle.
It droops sadly in my hand,
but the thorns still prick my skin
as if it'd be damned
before dying without a fight.

You glance for a long time
studying each of them,
from their petals to their roots to their stems.

You tap my right hand
and my smile grows with you,
so happy that you actually knew
what was true.

I let the white rose fall from my left hand
as you fill a vase with water.
I hold the precious Queen of Night tulip
softly so that her beauty won't falter.

As soon as I place her in the water
she springs to life likes she's awoken,
her stem straighten and her petals up
as if she was never broken.

you see it was beautiful all along.
you say as you stare at the vase.
It's just that it needed
to be taken care of in the first place.

All we must do is water the roots
of the Queen like we do the rose,
and maybe they won't need to be compared
one day in the future, but who knows.

What I do know is the Queen of Night
is a queen herself, who is proud
of the dark roots and gorgeous petals
and stands so tall she reaches the clouds.

Any time you're doubt yourself and your power,
remember the Queen of Night.
I promise you that if you do, you'll
see you can shine so bright.