They Couldn’t See Me Bloom

 

They Couldn’t See Me Bloom

They couldn’t see my glow,
because light unsettles
those who live in shadows.

They couldn’t see my talent,
because my rising
reminded them of their stillness.

To them, a broken soul
must bow its head,
wear grief like an identity,
stay quiet,
stay small.

They believed pain
was my final form.

When I was hurting,
they were absent—
no hands to hold me,
no voice to say stay.

But step by step,
with trembling feet
and a brave heart,
I gathered my worth again.

I stitched myself back together
with patience,
with hope,
with tears that taught me strength.

Now they say my bloom
isn’t worthy of anything—
because healing
was never part of their plan for me.

But I learned this:
a flower does not ask
if it deserves to bloom.

It blooms
because it survived the storm.

And so did I.

                         KULSOOM AFZAL