Diary of a Dead Girl

weeds

I remember back when I was still just a babe,

and my mother was watching me as I played outside.

She had a cigarette in her hand,

and red in her hair.

I brought her this purple flower-looking plant,

I told her it was for her.

She looked at me and frowned,

"Honey that's just another one of those weeds, nothing special."

I remember looking down at the plant,

excitement still radiating off my face.

"It's pretty though,"

I reached my hand out for her to take it.

"It's still a weed."

My mother said to me.

"Weeds can be pretty too."

My mother plucked the flower from my hand.

"That doesn't change the fact that they're still weeds."

maybe she wasn't talking about weeds.