Editor’s note: This piece was written for the Teenage Writers Workshop feature package coming this week.

Sometimes I talk with flowers
And I know they hear me.
Most people don’t know
That flowers can hear us.
Flowers are always quiet
Because they are listening.

When I am done talking
They can feel my feelings.
I tell the flowers I am unhappy at school
Because I did not know a lesson.
I need someone to know what I am feeling,
And the beautiful flowers listen to me.

There is fighting in the streets of Kabul
And people are dying in front of our school.
Students could die, when all they want
Is to learn, to get an education.
It is not fair, and I tell this to the flowers.

By Madia, age 14