first bloom
i was not born loud, but soft, like moss in shadow or the hush before a storm.
i’ve carried silence like a secret thinking maybe if i disappeared enough, i’d finally be loved for not needing too much.
but the ache grew roots. and now— i bloom, not for applause, but because the soil inside me asked for light.
i am learning: i don’t need fixing. just watering. just warmth. just time.









