People argue each time I name
my favorite flower. I
am asked why? I am told
it is a weed. I say,
“I know, a weed that flowers.”
My only defense, how similar
my answer is to what
they would have chosen.
I do not answer the why.
I do not dare tell them that I
am on the flower’s side as it ruins,
their perfect lawns, in front
of their perfect houses, filled
with their perfect families.
Their dream and my dread.
I do not try to make them
understand that my favorite weed,
my favorite flower, is important
not despite but because of the fact
that it grows and they do not want us.