Pretend you’re this plant, maybe?
This is a metaphor for stress.
I am a seedling sprung from a seed. I find it a little bit hard to be a plant today. The sun is barely sensible on my leaves. The soil I try to grow in does not nourish me in the way I need to one day birth a vegetable or two. I know this already. The fertilizer added to the soil pushes me to grow up faster, but I feel the pressure and there’s a suspicious absence here of plants that don’t look like me.
I miss the bees. The water I drink… I mean, I heard it once tasted full of life, mineral fresh! Passed down to me through generations, I try to make that memory alive while I drink. To mask the taste.
You know what, honestly I could be nourished better. My human knows it too. Some days, though, I feel like my human would physically pull me upwards, if that would force me to grow.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
I love love love being a plant. I love the breeze. I love feeling the magic of being able to grow from a seed into divine, green, flawed and therefore flawless being. I just wish someone would ask me what I need. And then we could figure out what they need. And do both of those things together?
