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We the Weeds
November 7, 2014
You look at me and smile,
then turn around and glare.
A lie is made you,
and I receive a deadlly stare.
Like a weed,
told they would thrive,
but because they are different,
eventually it will dive,
into hatred and hostility,
a pool of fear.
These two-faced flowers,
give off a shear,
expression of disapprovement,
while they accept all the fame,
leaving the poor little weed,
to cower in shame.
With nowhere to go,
and nowhere to hide,
we weeds sit alone,
all depressed on the inside.
© Ankur M., Jericho, NY
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