A wilted flower jealous of weeds.

How cruel
that they are trampled
uprooted
forgotten by sunset
yet still return with the morning

I was watered with promises
raised beneath careful hands
told I was meant to bloom beautifully
Yet the first harsh season
stole every petal I had

Now I watch the weeds
split through cracked pavement
laughing in places
flowers were never meant to live

Perhaps beauty was always a burden
Perhaps being loved
only meant there was farther to fall

The weeds ask for nothing
The wind owes them nothing
Still
they survive

And I
once admired by every passing eye,
would trade every remembered blossom
for the stubborn heart
of something
no one wanted.