Waiting for letters
in great, wide envelopes.
Waiting for someone
else to decide
if I am worthy
to try for my dreams.

It all comes down
to letters
and how they
translate into a
number
and how that number
translates into a value
of you.

I wrote about how
I pulled myself out
of my own early grave
and how a pill
and a doctor
and a God
ignited
a fire in my heart
to live
and live
and live well.

Today, I am not a flower,
I am a seed,
who only wishes to be a flower;  
but fears nobody
will give me water.

I could be a garden.