I am not a flower.
My value does not lie in 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, the 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.