I am a weed in a field of sunflowers, I distort the perfect picture. I must be eradicated. I am not perfect I am flawed heavily; I am not the next big thing I will never be a wonder socially speaking I am a reject. A by product of a shitty marriage, the end of the beginning. I don’t want to be loved by thousands; I just want to be loved by me. How am I supposed to fit in when even the other weeds turn me away, the weight on my hips suggests other things, the scars on my skin aren’t in the right places or deep enough to be considered anything other than a playful cat. My thoughts aren’t dark enough to be able to get help, my desperate pleas fall on deaf ears. Sometimes I am a stranger to the one I love most, when things go array, I am six feet under unable to truly comprehend feelings other than anger and sadness. The one who brings me to my feet and brushes off the dirt is miles and miles out of reach. I wish I could look in the mirror and see what he sees, a beautiful glowing rose in a field of ordinary sunflowers.