We all are stories in the end.





But somehow our stories connected,

To form a most wonderful tragedy,


I grew up with flowers in my hair,

Dirt on my knees,

Stains on my elbows,

And roots in my heart.


I dare you to try to uproot me,

Because I am a wild thing of earth,

Roots, dirt, clover crowns, and flowers.


And they take care of their own.

I said was independent, and you sought to take that from me.

Because you wanted me,

To be dependent,

On you.