Untitled.

So I heard a story about a Rose
And the concrete garden it makes its home

The Rose.

Leaves wilting

Deep Red petals, edges torn

Didn't get the easy life of the daffodils or sunflowers
But nobody gets to choose where they grow.

Stretching towards the sun
Craving its warmth

Always exposed to the world
Wanting, needing, yearning for shelter

Any source of comfort...but always going without.

Just another day in the Concrete Garden.

Did you hear about the Rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?...
I am the Rose.