Flowers That Grow In Debris

They say flowers bloom in spring - in warmth, in care. But what of the ones that bloom in silence, buried beneath debris? Beneath hands that take, not hold?

Sometimes I wonder...
Was I born to bloom, or only to be plucked?

My roots were not my own. They were forced deep - with every command, every touch, every name I didn't choose. And still, I grew. Even when my petals withered, one by one. Even when I began to mistake pain for sunlight.

Was it love that watered me, or something colder?

I kept growing. I kept surviving. Until I bloomed in the only way I knew how - and for that, I was punished.

Tell me... if a flower grows from ruins, but no one sees it - was it ever really beautiful?