Dear whom ever you might be,
I am the offspring of nature and the sun
My parents call me their son/sunflower.
My parents are exotic, foreign,
They hoped by planting me here
The soil I lived in would help me grow better than they did.
On the first day of school,
I am teased for the fullness of my stump,
For the distinctiveness in my appearance.
I then throw dirt on my roots,
Dig them into the ground,
Where they are nowhere to be seen,
Nowhere to be found.
I begin to sleep on tear soaked pillows
As if it had rained and my soil was flooded.
I am on a flower cart,
Selling myself out,
Trying to be like them,
Generic flowers, sold by the dozen.
Doesn’t it seem funny that
I am a sunflower in a field of roses, daisies, and dandelions?
Where I am lying about who I am.
Maybe, those won’t hate me
If I try to grow into a flower pot I won’t fit.
Other beautiful flowers turning into pot
Because they won’t fit in.
Those daisy white lies are not fitting for their appearances.
They’re not green with envy,
They’re red with jealousy,
With everything I do,
They will soon be like the soil, beneath me
Looking up to say “oh he rose into a beautiful being”.
My pain did not worsen overtime
Realizing that the fullness in my stump
Represents how in touch I am with my roots
So I dig them from the ground
To stranglethorn the hate
Out of their stems,
To nourish them to be as loving and open as me.
These are the flowers we should be giving.
Not forcing them to grow in flower pots.
The only reason why we don’t fit in flower pots
Our roots are a big part of us,
And you expect us to hide them
So that we too, can be beautiful.
No matter, the type of flower, type of roots
All are beautiful
These are the flowers we should be giving
With no price.
Individuality is priceless.
When everyone is weeping willows there is no prize, nobody wins
Are the flowers we should be giving to our parents.
To my parents,
From your son/sunflower,
I’m proud to be y’orchid/your kid.