i am not, nor have i ever been, a delicate flower
i am more of a shriveled up weed in the cold of may,
that doesn’t grow so much as it just keeps standing
a little off-side, bent, and leaning to the left
but standing all the same
long after you’ve tried to destroy it
(because it makes your flowerbed look filthy
in comparison to all the daises and roses and daffodils)
i am a pest of a plant
the food of the caterpillars that will soon grow into beautiful butterflies
but will all forget that i was the one
that got them there in the first place.
