Just Watch Me Fly

Scratches, scars, and tears, Stretch marks, unique shapes, bright colors. The flower has all of these, each so different and beautiful. Smallest to the largest, We see beauty, a triumph of breaking through the ground. Harsh sun, overwatering, and weeds, All try so hard to choke them out. But when together, there is nothing that can. Power in the beauty of harmony, they stand. Coming back year after year, how loved is their rebirth. For nothing can stop them. Water the flower, speak kind words over it, Prune the toxic weeds that try to choke it. Stand for the ones that have suffered and continue to because they have been forgotten. Protect the small sprouts and buds of flowers yet to bloom, give them a chance to grow. Don't stand by as aggressors pluck petals, be the sun that burns them dare they touch. Why compare the different beauty you see? Why cut down the daffodil for the snowdrop? All have the same core, all were created with great love and

Spring blooms in Glasgow I have long had a deep and abiding love for Shakespeare, but it was not always so. My first experience with the Bard was Julius Caesar and I made the decision that I did not like reading plays, having to memorize Brutus’s monologue didn’t help my feelings towards it either. But it was later when my amazing high school English teacher had us read Macbeth that my feelings changed, albeit gradually. Side eye for Caesar Upon first reading, much like Julius Caesar, I hated the play and found it hard to understand or relate to. But she challenged me to read it again, so I did. It was upon a third read through that I found the humor and epic beauty in the Scottish play and it came alive for me. If not for falling in love with this gruesome tragedy I might have never found the great fascination with the world’s most prolific writer, nor would I have found my own spark for writing and history in the way that I did.  For that, I will always have Mrs. Qua