Anotherandom - The Flowers Don't - Black

We said yes too many times when we screamed no.
We were raised to smile through the choke.

People stepped over the remains,
and we carried on, pretending it didn’t matter,
pretending we weren’t tired of pretending.

Our gentleness was mistaken for surrender, our silence for peace.
So we buried what was soft, hoping it would grow into something harder,
something that could survive the noise.

But beneath all that dirt, it bloomed.
Small, defiant, and painfully alive.

Maybe this is what’s left of us.
And maybe that’s the cruelest thing:
The flowers still grow, even after we gave up on them.