Perhaps I am a cactus.

              Perhaps,
there are needles
                              protruding
from my skin
to prove how soft
i really am.

                            A saguaro,
                   only hollow      
      by the birds                  
           who make nests      
                          in my chest.

Perhaps,
               I will flower
once the rainy season is over.

I will drink deep of this muddy sorrow
and my skin will swell
warm
          and green
                            and well nourished
by the sky.

Perhaps,
                it will be
the most beautiful
                 blossom anyone has
       ever seen
and people will travel
                                                      mile­s
                      just to
                                      admire.

Perhaps,
        ­        they will wonder
how my flower
                came from such a
spiny
thing
And Perhaps
                        I will tell them.