Farming Dead Flowers

A weed growing among flowers, I always felt I did not belong and tainted the existence of the beauty around me. Many seasons came and went with me pretending to be what I was not, until the day came when I realized I will never be what I was raised to be. I would be something better. I will not be tamed by some "farmer" and I will not conform to the flower bed, I will remain wild and I will remain free. A prickly, gnarly weed, existing happily among a sea of conforming, daily dying flowers. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said -" a weed is a plant whose virtue has not yet been discovered". I discovered mine through poetry.