We were daisies in a field of weeds.
Freshly bloomed, our souls as
Pristine as the petals that framed our dewy faces.
We rose from the earth towards the sun on shaky stems.
Pure, unstained as virgin cloth, untouched
By the ferocious elements
That threatened our forming foundation.
Our purity was our pride,
The only thing that set us apart from the
Wretched weeds that yearned for our naivety.
The weeds clawed at our roots.
They soaked up our sun and stole our sound minds,
Forced us to believe that we were not worthy
Of the sacred innocence that crowned our heads.
They stained our perfect petals to match theirs,
A bitter and dying brown,
Like the dirt and filth that we grew from.
The weeds needed us to be like them, because
Our pride revealed their insecurities.
We reminded them of what they had lost.