This was supposed to be a poem about hope but it ended up losing it

by remembertoexhale

And yet after all this time
I still have hope
like a tiny flower pushing through the hard soil
growing between the cracks
in the rocks of my soul
struggling for air, reaching for water
trying to make its membranes partially permeable
petals chasing the sun
and I am kind to call myself a flower
maybe a more accurate description would be a weed
because weeds
grow where planted
and they don’t always end up
with pretty flowers to disguise the fact that
they need the help of others to exist