A Nettle Amongst The Thorns
I Grow where ever I want to, sometimes out of control
A Nettle Amongst The Thorns
Just a Nettle Amongst the Thorns
I never asked to stand out here,
among the bloom and bite.
Not rose, not bramble, not admired,
just trying not to fight.
The wind treats all the same, I guess,
the rain is just as cruel.
But roses get the praise and poems,
and I am called a fool.
They clutch their cuts and cry my name,
though I was barely brushed.
While every thorn gets kissed and kept,
and I am simply hushed.
I grow where others dare not go,
I sting, but still I stay.
Just a nettle amongst the thorns,
that no one clears away.
I wasn’t meant for beauty’s game,
nor bred for soft applause.
I rise without a single bloom,
and still defy their laws.
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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Comments (3)
Luckily, foragers eat them as pesto.
Sometimes the weeds are prettier than the flower. Take Queen Anne's Lace and clover and Crown vetch all that grows along a highway where I grew up. Good job.
Interesting and well written.