I pluck the weeds out of my head every season, All the bad, the negative thoughts, the unhealthy habits, so the flowers have room to grow. Until the next season, when the weeds regrow and I must pluck them again. I grab the base, pulling up the roots, Without roots, they won’t grow back. They do.
My lonely field no one to accompany, there are weeds growing high up till my chin. I am barefoot, walking around aimlessly my feet are bleeding many pebbles beneath my feet I am searching for the sun hiding behind the clouds the colours are sepia black, brown, yellow soon there is rain pouring over my face the scene goes muddy then moon follows and the night conquers and till when it is dawn I am long gone.
a walk in my field, a walk into my life it is how it is stay where you are scenery is not pretty.
The weeds live side by side, With the roses in a meadow, Fallen branches of a dead tree, Help its neighbor grow, Nothing ever ends, Death is not an impasse, When you’re gone, We’ll look for you in a blade of grass.
perhaps I am a ****. despite her best efforts to contain me, and his unpleasant grounds keeping, I grew. I don't believe I'll bloom any time soon, but I keep growing. Though, I can't help but wondering, How would have I been had they raised me like a flower?