They call me weed, as if my name itself
is a curse spat between teeth.
I do not grow in obedient rows,
nor do I beg for the gardener’s hand.
Like the poet’s misunderstood words,
my roots clutch the cracks of forgotten places~
a shrug, an insolent in a vacant lot.
The wind combs through me, rustling my leaves~
and, like a poet, I answer only to that.
Like the writer hunched over a page
no one will read, I am my own audience.
People walk past me, boots scuffing near my face,
too busy to notice how I bend but do not break.
Oh! What freedom I have in being overlooked~
Censorious shears do not scare me
nor do worldly stakes measure my beauty.
Let the prime and proper roses preen in their curated beds.
I am the sentence left untrimmed~
the wild ink bleeding through the margins,
alive, stubborn, and creative where I was never meant to be.
I see YouTube
and FaceBook
and other social media platforms
are not so happy
hosting PrivilegeTube
JustOurWhiteFaceBook
and other anti-social messengers.
Free speech advocates
are concerned about such censorious censorship.
Free listeners to rational reasons
and healthy seasoned pro-social advocates
may propose new antisocial media platforms,
clearly red-labeled with warnings
for children and families
that these are toxically contagious
absence of courageous
and curious
and celebratory healthy foresight
anti-health
and anti-resilient communal impoverishment spaces
Where those who feel privileged
to play win/lose strategies and games
against the healthiest green wealth
of win/win MotherEarth's climate media platforms
may feel unfree to non-communion
non-communicate
non-listen
non-speak of multiculturing healthy wealth
among our unenlightened Babeling selves.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.