Despite what people may think,

you’re the only color you can bring to a black pavement

along abandoned warehouses and buildings.

You have more personality than these empty shells.

But to them you are just a weed among flowers.

You’re viewed as a nuisance and worthless.

And they want to exterminate you,

put you down like an unclaimed dog at a pound.

Giving you an execution like Mata Hari.

Concocting it in their heads that they have the right to play god,

and judge you when they don’t have a clue as to who you are.

But you’re a stubborn little thing.

No matter how much they try to cut, pull or remove your roots,

you will always pop back up looking the same with no indication of being hurt.

But deep inside, where no one is welcomed,

you are breaking apart, withering away.

You do not know what it is like to receive a visit from a butterfly,

the feeling of touch was another stranger amidst your list of unknowns.

Being so shunned from those around you, left you ridged and pathetic.

Always stuck in the same place or moving farther away.

Forcing you to embrace it all in and accepting your fate.

However, rain always seemed to favor you more than those foolish flowers;

giving you the nourishment to grow more rapidly.

You grew well and strong,

making people stop long enough and,

actually think that you were a flower, a chrysanthemum, as well.

Giving you confidence...

for a short while,

before those people realize that you’re no flower at all.

You’re just a weed that can deceive, like a Venus-fly trap luring in flies.

But, you’ve always wanted to be away from all this.

You speak about running away and living a solitary life

Finding your very own black pavement to grow in.

And some day, by chance or fate, you will find your lonely black pavement.

Bringing forth the most radiant smile ever shown.

Warm like a mid summer evening, just after the final glow of the sunset.

And maybe one day, whether there will be a lover or not

who will help spawn your children

and when your children are swept away by a gust of wind to spread more weeds,

when you’re old and your head full of soft white hair

maybe, just maybe, you’ll develop Alzheimer's

to maintain forgetting the mistreatment those flowers thrown at you, Dandelion.