Trapped in the corner of my confined room,
with wonder fluttering in the pit of my stomach,
and an unknown path that is yet to be paved ahead of me.

Imprisoned in the resentment of others,
that happens to echo in the vacant spaces of words,
with little provisions of positivity from others.

Grey clouds hover over me,
blocking out the sun’s mellow rays,
and forbid me from thinking of ever seeing the light.

Sharp whispers are heard from the back of my mind,
reverberating endlessly as the snarkiest comments are formed,
from plump pink lips as all eyes are set on me.

“Do you not have any dreams?”
they ask in saccharine tones laced with surprise,
and I shrug my shoulders; thinking and thinking.

Legion amount of strolling is done on the land of the unknown,
tethering along the shoreline of the known,
to compose an answer for their prying mouths.

The mirror that used to stand broadly by the door,
has shattered into pieces and shards flood the floor;
a perfect representation of my dreams.

Mother’s words begin to come to me,
like a warm blanket on a cold winter day,
“growth begins on the inside.”

Like that delicate *** of sunflowers,
she’s tended for day and night,
they expand not because of negativity.

To flourish means to be thrown in despair,
and come back out thriving, striving, luxuriant,
to surpass the grey clouds for the transcendent sunlight.

I take their words,
absorb it like it’s nutritious,
and release it like oxygen.

I’m sprouting dangerously,
exceeding the limits and surpassing heights,
but who’s to stop the beanstalk, not Jack.