I would lay awake and cry, Wishing I could be a different kind of flower. And by the time the sun rose, My eyes would be dried out.
And then I got even older. And the things that meant so much suddenly meant so little. The sun still rose and fell. But now, it rises on me.
The Azure Night, Milan Coleman ’22, digital
But then I got older. And I became a new flower. This time, I wasn’t anything like what they wanted me to be. But I knew I was still beautiful.
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mosaic