knowing my roots will break through concrete

be beautiful in the city, try your best away from the sacred grounds,
and I oblige: I will be beautiful in the city, I will try my best away from the sacred grounds…
I am not beautiful in the city, I make the city beautiful
how can I try to grow, when there is no where to go?
my roots they crawl and find nothing but a mountain of concrete, my heart recoils and rejoins my center…
‘silly woman, silly human’
but I insist, my roots are dying, this dark is not dark, it’s a prison of someone else’s making, not a place for one to nourish the self and grow… ah but I’m just a tree, my roots take what they can and expand, breaking through, I break the concrete but they tell me I’m a nuisance and cut me down…