The Little Sprout by Angela Guzman

Every time I walk home from school,
I see that little sprout,
Wondering what the plant would do
If we had an everlasting drought.

I sometimes think I’ve seen it before
In my life or in a dream.
I ask myself if it ever felt lonely
With such a low self-esteem.

That little sprout reminds me of someone,
Someone I used to know,
Someone who hides their feelings
‘Cause they’re too afraid to show.

Just like that someone, the sprout is poor,
But it leaves the pain in the past.
It strives to keep on standing
For the rainstorms never last.

Instead of looking down on it,
I look up and see compassion,
For all the hard work and courage
That we humans can only imagine.

And maybe I’ll remember that someone,
That someone I used to be.
‘Cause that little sprout has told me that
That someone could be me.

The time will come when life will seem
To always bring me down.
But that will never stop this little sprout
From rising from the ground.

Right now, the sprout is deeply blind,
For it does not see its beauty.
Instead, it worries about never growing
Or ever becoming a tree.

Surrounded by others’ perfection,
Trying harder to fit in,
But perfect is fairly impossible,
You can only find it within.

Until this very day,
That sprout continues to rise,
For we are all that little sprout who need
To live and open our eyes.

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