Whispers in the Margins

In the hush of fluorescent lights,

I stand, a sapling among redwoods,

Roots seeking purchase in foreign soil.

Each glance, a gust that threatens to uproot,

Each silence, a drought that withers.

But in the margins of my notebook,

Where ink blooms like wildflowers,

I cultivate a garden of resilience.

Each page turned, a seed planted,

Each word learned, a tendril reaching skyward.

Let them have their forest,

I'll build my own ecosystem.

In the spaces between cubicles,

I'll grow tall and strong,

A minority no more, but a mighty sequoia.

For in this concrete jungle,

My leaves may look different,

But my trunk is just as sturdy.

I photosynthesize knowledge,

And my branches touch the stars.

So let the winds of doubt blow,

Let the rains of insecurity fall.

I am rooted in my own worth,

A sapling today, perhaps,

But tomorrow, a force of nature.

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