see these veins? they’re brittle, and they’re not too deep.
but they’re mine and they’re here all the same.
these roots only scratch; they graze the soil of this young land.

once upon a time, some number less than sixteen years ago,
my mother gathered me in her talons
and over the oceans, we flew
and i was only so young then.

my roots dangle. my roots flail.

pendulous
a wailing tyke in mother’s outstretch arms
with the uncertainty of how a screaming teen embraces her identity
slathered on her face by a beautiful monster somebody calls
pressure
but i’ve never seen that monster, i’ve never stumbled into that neck of the woods.

i have roots and they only barely graze the soil of this young land.
so how do i do this? i don’t suppose it’s a graceful dance, not a waltz, or a ballet.
do i slink into their garden and do i take their colors and do i pretend i am one of them?

someday i’ll sink my roots into the hesitant soil of this young land
and i will not let them dye my petals—
no, i will hold fast to every ounce of my being; every drop of red, and yellow,
and every splash of color across my skin:

see my veins? see how it all pumps,
from the very canyons of my heart
into every parched inch
of my being.