OVERGROWN

I tried to silence the noise, but it bloomed instead. From the cracks in my forehead grew violets of memory, orchids of doubt, petals stitched with unfinished sentences. My hands tremble not to hide but to hold the garden spilling from my mind. Every eye I carry has seen a different version of me. Every line across my skin is a map of storms I survived alone. If you look closely, you’ll see I am not breaking. I am flowering in places no one thought could grow.