Flowers in my veins

And I woke up in this garden called Earth and flowers grew from my system.

I am a flower, both literally and figuratively. My name is Sienna Rose and despite my mom’s explanation that she named me thus for simple reasons, I can’t help but think this: I am a flower — a rose. Its stem, like my spine, is curved and unequal due to my scoliosis. The thorns are my personality and my eccentric thoughts which no one can seem to love or dare to touch. The thorns are the reason I can’t make friends, yet they are also the armor, the walls that defend me in bad times. Sometimes I am driven to cut them, but they keep growing back.

I can be the lively red or the pure white; I can be called on for love or for disdain. The petals are only what I show, and they are layers that never fail to hide who I am within. They call me attractive, pretty, cute, and oh, how I hate it for I know they say these words not for who I am or what I am capable of, but for my looks. And there goes this teenage girl pulling off my petals: “He loves me, he loves me not.” Darling, if he loves you, he’ll show it, and if he does not love you, don’t destroy yourself just because of that boy. You deserve more. Don’t settle for less.

I can feel my veins – they’re covered with thorns. I can feel my blood – it’s part iron and part pollen. I can feel my heart made of petals – with only a few sharp, hurtful words, it will break. And please don’t dare to steal my petal heart if you won’t handle it with care. Once you start hating it, once you throw it harshly to the ground, it will fall apart, and no glue or thread can ever patch it and make it the same again. I can feel your sneakers stepping on me. Please don’t step on me.

If you truly think I’m beautiful, then don’t pluck me out of my soil and put me in a vase as living room decor. I crave nature’s arms. I wish for clouds, rain water, butterfly kisses. Don’t imprison me within the walls of your house, your cave. You can pluck me, yes, but only if you put me in a bouquet for that special girl you’ve been thinking about. Put me on the table of that coworker you secretly admire, or kiss and leave me on top of your crush’s locker for Valentine’s Day.

You can pluck me, yes, but only if you hug me tight and wet me with your tears as you put me on your loved one’s grave. You can pick me off my soil if and only if you promise to show me passion and sentiments, for I find human emotions vastly exquisite and delicate.

I am a flower and I am not alone. We are all flowers. We come in different kinds, different sizes and different colors. We sprout in various places. We are all fragile within. Yes, some are judged. Some are sky-high famous. Some are ignored. Some are dandelions in a bed of roses. Some are unappreciated. Some have faded. Some were drowned or burned into ashes. And some have died without anyone noticing.

And I hope that despite our different races or types, despite our diversity, we realize that we are all of the same species within, and that we are all beautiful, not only for our physical appearance but also for who we truly are. We are all equal, and we have the same basic needs.

Don’t let the flower within you diminish. Don’t let the human within you be taken away. You know what? It’s OK if you step on me, because like a flower, I will grow back. And you will, too. We will.

And we live in this garden called Earth. The sun shines and the rain falls and hopefully, we will handle ourselves and our home with gentleness and care. Live, dear flower. Live.

Sienna Rose “Shane” Mabuti, 16, is a Grade 10 Special Science Class student at Brooke’s Point National High School, Palawan.