I Am a Weed

I am a weed, Why do you ask me to paint my face and nails? Do you not see my beauty without the falseness of that view? I am a weed, No, not a rose, soft velvet pleasure, Beautiful until you reach out to touch, Her siren song lures you to the spiny web. I am a weed, Verdant, brilliant in my tenacious ability to survive, My flower is more subtle, it is not that of the rose. When in drought, my vibrant presence still endures, During flood I grasp on to life with strong arms and legs, My beauty is in my ability to adjust to life, I hang on in the storm, as I am a weed. Behold me, I am a weed, How can I help you understand me, cherish me as you do the rose? Look within to see me as I grow in strength with each new challenge thrown my way. I am a weed, I am not a rose, Many are like me in this world, Some surviving phenomenal events, Clinging to life as we know it, The beauty of our spirit lies within.