I yank the weeds, their grip is tight,
No room for those who dim my light.
They fed on doubts, they choked my will,
I rip them out, the ground goes still.
With tight fists, I yank the weeds,
Their roots of spite, their bitter seeds.
No place for those who bring me down,
I tear them out, let none be found.
My garden’s overrun with weeds,
Disguised as flowers, sly and sleek.
They drink the rain meant for my roots,
And stifle every bloom that’s true.
With sharpened shears, I start to trim,
Each false friend cut, each bond grown thin.
No longer will I feed the lies,
Or let their shadows claim my skies.
I’ll clear the soil, make space to breathe,
For only those who help me seed.
In this new garden, pure and bright,
I’ll grow with those who share the light.
Your advice is empty, cold and loud,
You don’t know it all, so step down now.
Stop preaching like you’ve got it right,
I’m done with your hypocritical light.
