I am not a flower.
My value does not lie my beauty. I do not wither when plucked from my home. My roots are not shallow and delicate.
I am a tree. I am strong, durable, a pivotal force. My roots extend deep into the earth, twisting and twirling just as my history does. My past has helped me grow powerful and tall, a queen of my forest.
I may shed my leaves each season and become bare and vulnerable, but don’t fret. I will revive, stronger and more beautiful than before. Please, pick off my bark, try and chop me down.
I may not fill vases, but I can start fires. I can burn and I can scream.
So please, don’t call me a flower. Don’t diminish me to a fragile, pretty, piece of earth. I am a tree. I am astounding and noble and engaging. Life courses through my veins and futures begin where my leaves fall.