In you. Part of you.
Natural as can be.
Nestled among my pretty neighbors.
Singing to them, endlessly,
the traditional song of my people--
"Die, you jackasses. Make more room for me."
If I had a mind,
it would have a voice:
I give the gardener
something busy to do.
Listen to my heart beat:
"fuckyou, fuckyou, fuckyou..."
Love me or nuke me.
I don't care.
I'm nature's perfect engine.
Growing. Gaining. There.
Girl, I feel good,
but you're starting to look like shit.
I do what I do, that's Ms. Nature to you,
frightening Miss Muffet to bits.
For Real Toads mini-challenge, "Making a heart out of wild plants." I chose the weed.