Late Bloomer

When my job feels meaningless

my life aimless

and my heart empty

I wish that I could be

a weed

springing up through cracks in the pavement

thriving against all odds

no matter where I start

always finding my way

to the sun.

But I'm beginning to suspect

that perhaps

I am something else entirely

like a flowering bulb

planted deeper than most

taking longer to break through the darkness

of uncertainty

but when the time comes

blooming brighter

and fuller

and more earnestly

than the weeds that sit

just

below

the surface.