From the gritty dirt of the earth a shape is forming, adapting limbs, and devolving a mind, but yet not having a voice. At least a voice that can break through the screams that surround the young flower. Although the flower is small in size, and naïve to its own seeds, the flower holds on to the roots through the weather, until the time it believes that their own seeds can also produce more flowers.
Many us as Africans Americans are told that we cant grow, shouldn’t grow, but I believe we can grow taller than we could ever imagine
Digital Painting and Poem by: Arturo D. Hill
