I stand before you,
as a creation from countless conflicts;
a birth from burned bridges
that history tries to bury,
covering the truth with dirt and mud and soil;
but, even the forgotten seeds
may grow through the toughest of toils;
may sprout from the slightest of sunshine
when skies reflect the blood, the tears, the dull gray stains
that drip through the very blood in my veins,
descended and blessed by my ancestors
who struggled then so I can have my todays.
History is not just his story,
or their story,
but my story as I came from the roots
from my people who left legacies
in the seeds
that sprung
through struggles
and survive through me–
living,
breathing,
sprouting more seeds.