You.
You are beautiful.
You might think that’s the last word to describe you,
but it fits your compassion and resilience, understanding and patience.
Like wildflowers that thrive atop dirty soil,
there’s a beauty in a tender wrath,
when it is aimed
at injustices and disservices.
I don’t know what else to call you,
because that’s how I define beautiful
in my dictionary.

You.
You are peculiar.
The way you embrace yourself,
nurture self-worth, love each nook and cranny—
is as peculiar as humans should be.
You are a proud yellow chrysanthemum in a masquerade of colors,
You have had your share of neglects and sorrows,
and remarkably transformed them into sunshine and joy.
How could you not be peculiar,
when your honesty sways and empowers,
a beacon to those around you?

You.
You are brave.
The way others translate your guts, as if you were a toxic ivy,
is a blatant disrespect to your courage.
but those who know, know:
You are a castor bean, casting truths to protect the soil,
sheltering critters beneath your leaves.
Not everyone possesses your backbone;
as your potent gallantry is worth envy
Just look at how people try to uproot you,
because of how strong your presence is.

You.
With good-naturedness,
you hold everything
in the palms of your hand—

To cultivate the land,
plant your seeds,
create your garden
just as you envision.

Endure the passages of time,
and unruly weather.
I bet it will turn out to be a peachy one,

A garden gentle,
mighty,
and stellar.