If there’s a weed, usually you try and pull it out right? What if it’s right next to something that you want to stay there because it’s a nice flower plant or something? What if you pull that plant up and you rip so hard and so quick that just the top of the plant is wrenched out of the ground? What if that weed was trying to be a good plant and now suddenly you’ve shown it what would happen to it if it stayed and now it wants to leave so bad. The only thing left to it is the roots, so it grows larger and the only place left for it to grow is in the ground so it sends shoots out deep into the soil, trying to find refuge. Of course in the natural process of things the weed eventually grows back…except that it is a little larger and a little coarser because it realizes the world and whoever wants to rip it out is cruel and not understanding in a little part of their heart. So that weed decides to be vulnerable again and grows some leaves, hesitating because they don’t want to be hurt again. Suddenly and painfully the hand comes again, meaning to help the garden and the plants around the weed and pulls the weed up again. The roots are twisted and yanked yet they lay still in the soil as the hand takes away the leaves of the weed. The roots shudder and dry up, dying on the outside. The gardener thinks that they are doing well by pulling up the weed. But the other plants can feel the agony and the pain of the weed as the roots struggle to breathe and stretch out feebly to live again in the dark soil. This makes the other once confident and beautiful flowers around the weed begin to grow a little coarse outer protective leaves because they don’t want to feel the pain that the weed has to feel. The roots finally take a deep breath again and drink into the soil. The dark soil not only gives life, but it gives protection to the now bitter roots. Now the gardener comes with a metal pick and constantly hacks and prods and jabs at the roots. The flowers are appalled at this cruelty. The roots of the weed are angry and grow as hard and deep as they can into the soil, resisting and rebelling against the gardener. The more the hand stabs and cuts the deeper the weed grows into the soil. The flowers, once innocent and pure are now hardened toward what the gardener is doing. They know that the weed is not supposed to be in the garden in the first place. But they are afraid now that what has happened to the weed would happen to them. The garden is now a place of fear masked by beauty; pain masked by the smiling faces of flowers. The garden, once a garden of peace and happiness, is now inwardly apprehensive and aching. It is tender on the inside and hard on the outside. It may be beautiful, but inside it is full of scars and the only place it feels really safe is in the solitude and darkness of the soil.

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The weed and the garden are actually supposed to represent me.

Is that too poetic/pathetic?

the water color is mine.

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