She is a Garden

She is a garden—

not just a patch of earth,

but a wild, wondrous haven

where magic takes birth.

She’s learned to shovel through the debris,

to clear the clutter others left carelessly.

With calloused hands, she pulls each weed—

every doubt, every fear, every unmet need.

She waters her soul with quiet grace,

nourishing roots time tried to erase.

For she knows:

Nourish,

then

Flourish,

because blooming is earned—

and never rushed.

The most radiant petals

rise from the crushed.

She emerged from dirt,

not ashamed of the stain,

for the mud made her mighty,

not marred by the rain.

But she holds her ground,

never strays from her core—

for even in growth,

she honors what came before.

She is a garden—

resilient, radiant, and real.

Not because she bloomed,

but because she chose to heal.