When flowers sense the sunlight
their head turns in that direction
to absorb all the energy in the world

I, for one
Cannot turn flowers heads
More weeds grasp my appeal

I don't know what I am. Maybe
the moon, which only knows at night
how it really feels

But I guess, sometimes
The weeds staring in my direction
are flowers deep in their roots

Masked by their prickly exterior
Nobody seem to realise
Their insides matter