by Kate Meyer-Currey
If I were you I'd definitely think I was a tall poppy
that needed to be taken down a peg or two for my
confidence rattles the fruitcage of your insecurity
twisting you on its espaliered rack but it's a shame
you have no clue how I fought just to hold my head
up staked out in the deep manure of killing fields my
stem hogtied my growth stunted choked by tares
pelted by sticks and stones but I dug deep sucked
it up put down roots my entrenched stalk grew a
spine thorns in my side became armour I branched
out and blossomed into an evergreen hardy annual
If I were you I'd disrupt your natural sense of order
invading your neatly planted flower bed assumptions
like the wild bunch of course you'd want to weed me
out tear me up by my roots toss me on the compost
heap of your infertile life experience you're afraid
I'll outgrow your wallflower self-doubt that's why
you're atop the fence waiting like a toadstool gnome
to nip my authenticity in the bud so rake me over
if you were me you'd know my garden isn't all that
lovely it's a swampy jungle full of mosquito haters
out for blood, envy toads after my lily pad throne
