Writer’s Room: Cries from a flower

Ayanna Dexter, Columnist

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The warm heat hit my face as the rays from the sunlight entered my room. It’s another morning, another morning to be nourished and grow. I’m excited today to be loved and cared for.

I wait patiently to be watered, all my flaws to be plucked away; but as the day goes by no one shows to tend to my needs.

I sit there in my window watching the day turn into night and the night into day again. I am becoming dry and malnourished. I am discolored and depressed like an old silk cloth wading in the sun.

My bright confidence is gone; my head hangs low like the weeping willow.

My strength is gone; I am now weak and lethargic.

I can feel my roots crumbling beneath me like gravel being stepped upon.

The day turned into night once more. I can feel myself fading away; everything that was once beautiful about me is now a thing of the past.

I can feel myself slipping into the darkness, the place you go when all hope is gone.

That night I felt my soul die; it was only a matter of time before the rest of me followed.

Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? The darkness was darker than ever; I’ve never seen darkness so dark.

I closed my eyes to accept what I thought was the end.

I opened my eyes. What is this? It was day time again.

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