Growing My Own

The heat gets thick drops of sweat and tears drip. Holding tight but I let my fears slip. My back inflames as masters whip. & the smell of cotton is now making me sick. I'd rather pick the flowers of my own lawn, I'd pick for the family who was broken, sold off and gone. I'd pick for the name I have never known, I'd pick for a better home. But if I picked for one purpose alone it would be for my own. I'd grow a garden with the seeds of dreams, water the soil down, & watch sprout hopeful leaves. Everyday I'd watch these plants grow then pick the flowers of belief. Belief that sun shines for me. I'd wear petals around my wrist instead of metal. In hopes they grant me every wish & Id never have to settle. My clothes will resemble the ones of a batter land. & not one pinch of cotton will come near my hand. As I walk through my garden the cold soil will hug my feet. And my skin will never know what its like to feel heat. Or remember what it means to be beat. Instead of splinter wood, it would be cushioned silk where I sleep. And the my face & hate will never ever meet. I'd trace constellations rather than following them for escape. Instead of carrying around the crops of greed I'd carry around faith. I'd grow a whole garden of unheard voices & there will never be drought. There will never be a north, & there will never be south. & once every seed has been grown but one After the germ has been ripened by the sun. i'd treat that last flower better than flowers that came before. I'd name the flower after enlightenment. & give to the ones who I was once picked for..