“This one’s a weed,” they said, disgust written plainly on their faces. “This one’s not as good as us, never will be.”
I could feel myself wilting, beaten down beneath their harsh glares and judgment. I shriveled up, curling in on myself, starved of approval and love. My roots were shallow, I couldn’t reach beyond them. It was killing me. I was a flower, and everyone knows a flower can’t survive without light and care.
But, what if they were right? What if I was a weed? Would that change things?
If I was a weed…
That would make me a fighter, adapting and surviving. Despite the drought, despite the poor soil, I would still grow. Pushing my way up through the sidewalk crack, where they told me not to go. Wherever I set my mind, wherever my dreams and my will take me, that’s where I grow.
So what if I lose the delicate petals and the beauty of a flower? That only made me fragile anyway. Forget about depending on others to help carry me on. I’ll do it myself, let the wind carry me where I’m meant to be. I don’t need to be admired and wanted by the majority, they had to destroy you first. Besides, all of those things that they say make me ugly are what I say makes me beautiful, what makes US beautiful. The battle scars, what remains of past struggles and challenges overcome. The faded colors, memories of everything we’ve endured. The ever climbing vine, proof of our ability to achieve, our ability to overcome.
In the end, they were right. This one is a weed. And yes, this one will never be like them. And yes, this one is not as good as them.
This one is better.
Sorry for the delay, my wifi hasn’t been cooperating.
As always, feel free to use the prompt (giving Charlie Speratis credit for the art, of course) and leave us a link to check it out.
Keep growing and climbing, you crazy little weed.