In a field of flowers that beam in the sun

A weed stands alone amidst the colorful flowers.

With a heart full of longing, and a spirit of hope.

It gazes at daisies, so cheerful and bright.

At petunias that glisten, their stories retold.

“Why can’t I be pretty? Why can’t I fit in?”

It wonders in silence.

The flowers dance freely, in a world full of grace,

While the weed roots itself in a more rugged place.

It feels like an outsider, a misfit in bloom,

A flicker of darkness in a field of perfume.

But beneath its rough surface, a fire quietly glows,

A tenacity hidden where no one else knows.

For strength blooms in shadows where the sun seldom shines,

And beauty's not measured by delicate lines.

So the weed lifts its head, in defiance it stands,

Embracing its journey, with its own rugged hands.

For even in gardens where colors are bright,

Every unique presence adds depth to the light.

In the field of the flourished , it ylearns to be proud,

A reminder that differences make us all loud.

And though it may feel like a weed in the throng,

It discovers its place, where it truly belongs.