Baby’s Breath

No wonder everyone calls you baby
Color of the purest white
Size of a mouse's heart
Small enough to crush
Between forefinger and thumb

They paint you this way
Brand you fragile and innocent
Like they know by one look
That you aren’t significant
That you can’t stand on your own
And break from the worlds imprisonment

Young flower
Blooming bud
This world will try to block your sun
Suck the water from your roots
Until the life inside you
Becomes shriveled and undone

One day they will see
you have filled the whole garden
With your stretching vines
And shining petals
Hungry for the rays
to hit their upturned palms

And they will think
Small isn’t powerless
Nor is it weak
Rather it is the strength
That so many seek

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A poem about the high volume of strength in those who society deems as weak.