I am not a hot house flower. I was not coddled. I was not kept warm.  I was not kept safe from harm. I was not raised in gates, glass, or grating. I am the flower that springs up from the asphalt. In the cracks of the sidewalk. Maybe, in the rust of a car. I thrive. I do not need much. Sometimes, I am lovely, bright, and welcome. Others, I am cut down, poisoned, or plucked. It is hard to keep yourself clean,when you come from soot. Still, I am fresh, blooming, and thriving.


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