Deep in the forest, a thicket of greens,

is a family nestled tightly.

A family of weeds.

 

They bathe in filth,

both their own and that which seems to belong to animals.

They feed on competition, 

struggling to grow taller than the other plants 

only, they are closest to the ground.

 

Maybe I'm too critical.

Maybe I'm just cynical.

 

But they collect shiny beauties and do not cherish them.

Instead they throw them on the pile

and let it all rot.

 

Rot. 

They are a family of rot.

They'll dismiss a diamond and glorify a rock

and testify it's because a diamond is a rock.

And they're right.

 

Maybe I'm too critical.

Maybe I'm just cynical.

 

Only they rot. 

The family of weeds with

rotted out teeth

and long forgotten dreams

and ripped window screens

and couches bursting at the seams

and too many rotten dirty things.

 

They are the eyes of the night and the unrightful conscience of the forest.

Does the opinion of a weed matter to me?

 

They have thorns turned out to the world,

and would bite even those who can see the beauty in a weed.

Even those like me.

 

They'll love you, 

but only if you're close to the ground.

Once you-a piece of charcoal- become a diamond,

they'll throw you on the pile.

 

A cave, a thicket, a slithering orgy of weeds.

Taking for granted the beautiful things.

Like me.

But I won't uproot them from my garden.

They help me understand what it means to be a flower.

They help me understand that even the prettiest flowers should have thorns.

 

This family of weeds used to belong to me.

They would hug me tight and whisper sweet lies about their unsettling lives.

They used to hold me and kiss me with poisoned lips,

and I would stay in their company for days, transfixed.

But now I must go.

 

Now I must grow into a beautiful strong tree,

I must say goodbye to my old family of weeds.

The weeds, they're my friends.

They humble me greatly.

They show me beauty in filth that I otherwise would take for granted. 

I show them all they can see before they start to drain me of my spirit.

I must say goodbye, but like a small parasite I will always keep them inside.

And let it feast.

 

Deep in my forest, a thicket of greens,

is a family nestled tightly.

My family of weeds.