there comes a time when you outgrow people you never thought you'd outgrow you are the seed that reaches up from suffocating dirt, bursting into fresh air, and in that first gulp of pure insurgence, the tiny folds of your sprout can see for the first time, that though below was warm and nurturing, above is wild and full of light waiting, waiting, waiting for you to realise that your thirst to grow did not stop them from thirsting too

if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, i hope that the apple named after me falls to the ground, prematurely— i don't want to inherit my mother's need to please to please, nor my father's blinding views of the world. if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, i hope a wanderer picks my bruised body, take me far away from this orchard, where my seeds might scatter in soil— damp and gentle, where the saying is a compliment