I am a weed,
A stray tuft of foliage that no one wants.
Go on, pull me from my roots
I am no pretty flower.
I’m just there.
No appeal.
Why would anyone want weeds?
Stray ideas that aren’t appealing.
Why have a weed, when you can have a flower bed?
Go on, uproot me
Throw me away.
But I’ll only grow again.
A true curse on beauty.
What can a weed offer to the world?
Stray tufts of ideas, no one cares about.
Compare me to a flower.
Flowers bring smiles, so pleasant.
Why do weeds exist?
We don’t offer much.
Just the constant idea that nature
is unstable, unwanted and ugly.
You can never truly get rid of us
You can spray us with your poison,
We’re used to it.
You can shred us with blades,
But our hearts have already been shredded.
You can pull us from the soil, but it’s useless,
Because we have been thrown away already.
We will always grow back.
We’re the dreamers,
Our ideas will never truly die.
We watch you all bloom, beautiful,
Pretty flowers, happy and pleasant.
While we lay in the earth,
We keep growing.
Sometimes the world becomes too much for us
We can’t grow anymore, we cave in
We choose to wither and die.
Flowers can turn to weeds.
They lose sight of themselves,
They lose their appeal and
Become trampled on.
They join the soil again,
Re-birthed to never bloom.
But weeds can turn to beauty.
Delicate small buds, thistles.
The unwanted flower that kept growing,
The flower that no one wanted to bloom.
The unwanted foliage,
The weeds that bloom,
Trampled greenery and
The ever growing shoots.
We are the stray tufts.
Image by Amelia Bartlett