My heart is a seed
brimming with silent words,
sitting on a shelf, collecting dust.
I offer my hands, palm up, like open petals,
but they flutter away
carried off on the wind of indifference
while I stay rooted.
Yearning for the rain of recognition
that never falls.
I gather fragments of silence,
each one a stone to build;
a wall, a fortress.
I am an unpicked flower,
my vibrant colors fading away,
wondering if anyone sees
the beauty hidden in the weeds.
Or if I am destined to wither,
unnoticed, beneath the weight
of a world that turns away.