If you were a flower
Which would you be?
A Tulip, a Rose, or a Tiger Lily?
Would you be soft and fresh like baby’s breath?
Or rich and bold like a marigold?
Or maybe you wouldn’t be a flower at all
Maybe you’d be a tree that stands tall
Or maybe you’d be like the grass on the ground
Or one of the weeds, sprouting up all around
Is a weed any less, than a flower or tree?
And who even developed that hierarchy?
Can weeds not be beautiful, and roses not tough?
Can’t tree bark be smooth, but also be rough?
Trees can have flowers, and so can weeds
And flowers have thorns, and some even make seeds
So be a flower, or be nothing at all
Or be the grass, or a tree that stands tall
Or be everything
That you can possibly be
And when others look at you, you know what they’ll see
Not a flower, a weed, a blade of grass, or a tree
They will see the whole picture; they will see what is true
They will see every piece, they will see you.