I want to be a goddamn weed
I want to be a goddamn weed. But not just any weed. The kind of weed that sprouts up in the middle of a cement sidewalk. The kind of weed that shouldn’t be where it is. The kind of weed you look at and wonder how the hell it managed to grow in that space.
I want to be a goddamn weed. Because weeds grow without anyone’s help. They thrive when flowers die. They are persistent. They can be a pain in the ass. But they are wild and uncontrolled and don’t need love or nurturing or support. They survive on their own.
I want to be a goddamn weed. I don’t want to be the fragile rose shriveled by drought or the tulip that opens with the sunshine and closes with darkness. I want to stand tall and proud and strong no matter the circumstances.
I want to be a goddamn weed. I want to be the weed that has roots you can’t pull up, holding fast to the soil (or cement) it has anchored itself in. You might pluck off the top, but you can’t get to what’s underneath and I’ll just sprout again. Determined. Resourceful. Stronger than ever.
Fuck the beautiful flowers. I want to be a goddamn weed.
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