I realized that I’m in a field
With different flowers everywhere
I thought I was your favorite
But my roots remain in the ground.

And not in your hands
Like, who would really choose me?
The longer I’m in the ground, the more roots grow
The more I grow comfortable, the less likely I’ll leave.

I want to be a rose given on a date
Or a dandelion crown on someone’s head
So I can see the world
But there are thousands like me.

So, why would you ever choose me?
I will grow until my seeds blow off in the wind
Onto a different field
To not be chosen again.