I am designated weed,
Denied the right to coexist.
Uprooted, removed, expunged on account
of my eagerness to grow in ways not pleasing to their sight.
I am designated weed,
and deemed to be devoid of worth.
And yet, do I not have flowers, and greenery and seeds?
Aren't there little creatures that thrive off weeds?
Or is it this very progeny they fear,
lest we spoil the tidiness, disturb the growing year.
Know then this great Masters of all you see
You are not God... and you will not master me.
For I will grow in ways more cunning than you'd dream
and wait you out in the folly of your scheme.
Underneath in crevices, in unrewarding soil
gain each year in vigour though hardship of the toil,
Steal my glimpse of sunlight, keep company with tare,
learn to live off Nothing and multiply on air.
And, when you fall exhausted by the futility of your plan
Unhindered, we'll run RIOT,
'cross the neatness that was man.
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