What Kind of Plant am I?
I am a simple, growing weed. I am pulled out of the ground before anyone
knows my true significance. I am not allowed to prosper without someone tugging
me or posining my roots. Am I that ugly that I can not even stand next to a
thorny red rose? Am I such a disgrace that I can not grow next to a blooming pink
daisy? If only you would let me prove to you my meaning. I am determined to
show to you my point on this earth- if you pull me, I will rise again and I will
continue to rise until you murder my soul with that degrading posion. I can feel as
much a rose can feel. Why won't you let me just grow next to a big tree. Am I
hurting anyone or anything by just living? It is said that "plants" have feelings. A
weed is a plant, its a living creature, that is torn, pulled and degraded by everyone
that surrounds it. A am green with envy for the rest of the plants. I admire the
many other plants in this garden. I want to be part of the garden and grow with
the garden- but sooner or later I know my fate will come and I will once again be
pulled and thrown away...like trash. I will then put my best leaf foward and rise
again, with determination I seek foward to live my life to the according of what
life truely is. Sometimes I get lucky and I grow in the wilderness upon many of my
friends. We spread fast, in this great land, and grow rapidly. Once we find a free
area to grow, we know that we have found our home.
