We are like weeds -
like painted clovers
who grow anxious
at the sight of
lovers and little girls
with petals in their hair,
like daisies stepped on
by rubber soles and padded heels
waiting patiently
while bees flock to tulips instead,
like muted dandelions
plucked from the roots
and tossed aside with
barren heads and broken stems
mourning for their
scattered leaves,
like ivy and creeping thistle
eyes shut and whispering,
whimpering to themselves
a solemn hymn
praying to be left alone
for now.

Moths are swatted
butterflies kissed
Pollution in fog
but beauty in mist
Shades of skin
the lighter adored
Loveliest lauded
the average ignored
Wilting flowers
tossed and snubbed
Only the beautiful
are cherished and
loved

She tucked in my shirt
and patted my head,
“Always be yourself”
was the first thing she said.

She painted my lips
and powdered my nose,
called me a daisy,
but wanted a rose.

She looked at my shoes
and gave me her heels,
noticed my body,
restricted meals.

She ignored my work
chastised my art,
gathered my drawings,
ripped them apart.

She decided my plans,
outlined each day,
gave me one order -
“don’t disobey.”

She tucked in my shirt
and patted my head,
“You’re nothing without me”
was the last thing she said.

People have taken
little pieces of me
Paid little mind since
the pieces are free