I was born a weed

I grew out of the dirt.

Like a weed.

Grew leaning this way and that way and only hoping to get enough sun to lay a new leaf.

I grew like a weed out of the dirt

Scraping things by

Hoping that no hand would come down and pluck me out.

People tell me I’m a flower now.

Something worth preserving.

Something worth sheltering.

That I gotta say the right things and act the right way so people will keep thinking I’m a flower.

But I’m not.

I grew out of the dirt.

The weed doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

The weed doesn’t think it simply does.

The weed is allowed to roam.

But the flower is potted.

Stuck in one place.

Singular.

I grew out of the dirt.

I was born a weed.

I will die a weed.