I would rather be a weed

I would rather be a weed

Than a pot plant

Stuck in one place

Waiting to be watered

Left out in the sun

When it is too hot

Leaves burning

Without sunscreen

Or in the shade

Too dark to photosynthesise

At the mercy

Of a biped with clumsy digits

Breaking my stems

Shredding my flowers

How fragile we are

I would rather be a weed

Growing wild

A rebel in the gorse

Free to wander

Plunder the prime spot

Choke the life out of the competition

Not out of malice

But because I am a survivor

Whether I am wanted

Or not

It makes no odds to me

Bipeds have strange notions

Of beauty

They have to approve

The arrangement

Fussing and fighting

With the natural order

Of things

When I spring up

They push me down

Pull me up

Clear me out

Root and branch

Hating my freedom

To choose

Where I want to grow up

Forever fearful

Of invasion

The poor things

Miss so much beauty

In trying so hard to control

Natural selection

They lose so much variety

A garden full of pinks

And border plants

Standing in orderly fashion

Row upon row

Shouting ‘pick me now...

Pretty please…’

Conforming to the norm

Everyone the same

But not me

I am wild

Reckless and free

To be a weed

If I choose to be

So

Let me grow.