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.

We grow where no flower could
bringing our green leaves to the gray and drab places
and they still try to kill us

We ask for nothing
We take nothing
But they still try to poison our roots

We see the flowers
up on the balcony
watered and cared for
loved and treasured
and when they die
it is with fanfare and grief

We see them in paintings
in photographs
on shirts and clothes
the favorite motif of the human world
even after the blooms themselves wilt

In a world that wanted us not to survive
we refuse to die
we laugh because there is no other option

The flowers give freely their beauty
and they are loved
But we have nothing to give except our lives
and those we give for nothing

So we
the survivors of the sidewalk, resilient of root,
dream of the remembrance
afforded only
to the things
people love