#weeds
She plants weeds in Her garden and waters them everyday,
that's easier than pulling them out- wouldn't you say?
She wants to grow flowers in Her garden,
but they’d get overthrown-
by the weeds in Her life that've already been sown.
That’s what She believes,
what Her life has shown,
so why try again when She already “knows”
-the outcome.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 12:53 AM UTC
Now we are no longer weeds
uprooted and bereft, we can
conquer this old clearing
chastened for its brazen wildness,
break through crusted soil
into the earth we were kept from
and leap into the sun's arms and
onto the fingers of our poisoners,
who will once again relish us
and anoint their mouths
with good poison,
their happiness kept
in tinctures of promises,
labelled with a thousand names,
their sorrows boiled away
into creamy concentrate, shrooming
sluggishly onto the powdery ceiling,
forgotten along with old asbestos
and dreams that are hard to reach.
May they lie sprawled
at the dim window before
our emerald field, content
with what they've grown.
Now we are no longer weeds,
The dew tends lovingly
to our unkempt mane.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 4:58 AM UTC
Lawn grows with vigor
If it's fed the proper way
Or weeds take over
Dec 30, 2025
Dec 30, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
The weeds in our garden
Grew as fast as the pile
Of your unreplied letters
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 11:50 AM UTC
History has always had your back.
Society will always stab you in it.
Let heads roll low on the ground,
While you hold your head high.
Might doesn’t ever make right.
The strongest among us are always
those with naught but compassion
and kindness growing in their hearts.
Weeds, they will always grow back.
Society will tell you that there is no
difference between strength and will.
History tells us that will is stronger.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 8:22 PM UTC
Crystal tears,
Make up a diamond sea,
Where on the golden shores,
Glass roses grow.
But I picked the green weeds instead.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 7:37 PM UTC
Powdered concrete broken down,
Rocks show on the barren ground.
Tiny particles of dust and sand,
The dirt is rich in this poor land.
But you see a **** poke from a crack—
That's just a sign of beauty, new growth pushing concrete back.
The **** bares a sight of simple charm,
The sweetest daisy, growing strong, green leaves for arms.
The beauty this daisy possesses shows such grace;
It shines upon her yellow florets, her face.
What beauty comes from something walked on,
Something that's kicked and never looked upon!
This beautiful daisy, not only a new birth from the ground,
Shows signs of a new beginning and joy all around.
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
The weeds in our garden
Grew as fast as the pile
Of your unreplied letters
Sep 13, 2024
Sep 13, 2024 at 7:38 PM UTC
seeds fluff the air
agents of a nuisance **** ;
'the city' warns
faded ladybirds thrive
aggressors from a foreign land ;
'the city' warns
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 11:43 PM UTC
I am pulling weeds from the garden and I want to scream "there is nothing wrong with you there is nothing wrong with you there is nothing wrong you"
I am replacing you with something beautiful and hard to maintain because I value appearances more than growth
There is nothing wrong with dandelions i swear, please do not develop a complex, I just cannot love you unless someone else does
My father spent years weeding me and trust me it gets easier
it hurts less if you learn to hate yourself the same way
There is nothing wrong with you I just have to do this he is coming over later and he might remember he doesn't love me if he sees you here
There is nothing wrong with you but I will **** you still
Like my father
Commended for everything I grow in the wake of what I ****
There is nothing wrong with you I scream but I will throw you away and you will wonder what is wrong with you anyway
He told me I have room to grow before hugging me goodbye
There is nothing wrong with you he said
I just don't want you here
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 5:15 PM UTC
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.
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 3:26 PM UTC
Weeds in the garden
tend to grow all by themselves
the way of nature
_____________
Mar 19, 2022
Mar 19, 2022 at 8:46 AM UTC
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*.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
A single flower
Blooms among the tangled weeds
Beauty in the mess
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 10:40 AM UTC
Why am I so quick to crave death?
When things get difficult
And my world spins
I haven't truly suffered
Not nearly enough
Even so
My body aches to be still
To stop entirely
I crave the silence and peace
That comes with a grave
Despite this I persist
Like a **** through the sidewalk cracks
Ever growing
Craving the sunlight
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 3:03 AM UTC
i'll raise an electric fence around
the gods up there
in mountains and ivory towers
and they'll all wear shock collars
too
i'll spread peanut butter on bread
and send it to them through
the mail
i'll write them letters from the
lower world saying that 'time
really isn't a bother anymore
because apples rot in home
baked pies down here'
i'll reach through my own
tainted build up of corrosive
discharge and pull a petal
from the flower of life
to eat in front of
them with a coffee toothed smile
i'll throw weeds over
palisades into
groomed gardens
i'll **** on the flaming sword
spinning like i do
outside
heavenly gates
i'll put AA batteries on
my ******* and force
feed the north star
until it bursts
i'll stain the glass in windows
extolling failures and shining
blunders under vaulted
ceilings
i'll be nothing less than
the imperfect son of
an imperfect man and
an imperfect
woman--
human
all too human
after all
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC
Wildflower, you
Were no fresh spring rose, scented
Instead, a dry ****
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 6:51 AM UTC
You can be a small flower in life.
You may struggle to bloom.
To settle your roots.
To have the perfect position for the sunshine.
What you really need to do is **** your garden.
Your field.
Then, and only then, open your petals as wide and beautiful that they can go.
And just bloom.
Sometimes all we need is to empty those holding us back, only then in order to rise.
To rise to the sun.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC
Tend the flowers in your heart.
Mend them.
Give them time to sow.
Allow them to grow.
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
A tree stares in disbelief at
an axe with an unsharpened edge
Unsure if its fate is to be beaten rather than
chopped to death
before giving birth to tables and chairs
A pavement recoils in disgust
that weeds and not roses sprout from its crevices
Indignant at the unfairness of it all
Even the pictures painted
by words scrawled on anguished walls
seem to have something to say
While I’m lost in thought
on a park bench
trying to make sense
of masked
lockdown/murdering/rioting days
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 7:56 AM UTC
My garden is only full of Black Nightshades,
It is what I am made of.
A flower that is considered a ****
An invasive species.
Am I invasive in the way I talk,
Loud and commanding?
Am I invasive in the way I care,
About all species?
Tell me,
Am I poisonous to the tongue?
Is the way I scream and sob about the world's odious ways invasive?
Would you like me to be voiceless?
Tell me,
Are the way my words hit your skin prickled with hatred and toxicity?
Is the way my tear hits the soil a sign that I’m delicate?
Tell me,
Do the ways that my stems reach for the sun seem invasive?
That I crowd and push,
The way my garden stands tall.
On guard and at attention.
Tell me,
When the poison drips down your throat,
Is it as invasive as your thoughts?
As invasive as you thought I would be?
Is my garden not your idea of picture-perfect?
Cut clean and full of color,
Bright blues and pinks?
Is the way I present myself poisonous,
Is it invasive to your existence?
My garden is not here to be pretty,
It is here to be hurt but not hardened by the world.
The changing season and brutal weather will not sway my roots.
I’m here to grow,
Even if it seems invasive.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 6:55 PM UTC
Pretty weeds
growing from the cracks
of the ground.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 3:31 AM UTC