A Plant’s Life
I don’t understand how others look at this world and know what they have to do in life. It is like they have a purpose; do we all have a purpose? Where do we even come from? Where do we at any point come from? Can anyone explain why I need to go into this world and carry on with a daily existence I won't ever concede to? Where do I, by any chance, come from? More often than not, I feel like there is no reason for living. We spend our lives stuck in this soil, we never move, yet others are so persuaded this is an excellent way of life. I realize I ought to be more joyful to be a piece of something; however, I am not because I don't have the foggiest idea. I'm on this soil, no place to go watching the days pass endlessly, but then I don't have a choice; however, it is my life, right? We will die anyway; there are stories about how humans remove us whenever they feel Like it; eventually, we will die off when the winter comes. It isn't like I would be missed or anything. When the leaves fall, we fall. I guess the upside to things is no one ever comes out as often. I used to hear stories about people running around them, and we dance; everyone dances with the wind.
They talk about how exciting it is to be a plant. Coming into this world, I've seen nothing but had things don't even get me started when the dogs use the bathroom on us! It is so disgusting. What's considerably more sickening is me, why I'm so frizzy all over. Why is the top of me so big while the bottom of me is so thin? I feel so disgusting sometimes, and I hate it. I need to be content with life and myself; however, it is difficult to feel lonely. I don't relate to any other plant. I have tried, but now I don't even bother. Some days I feel fantastic, happy, thrilled and then other days I feel really sad. I don't understand; the world is grey, and to the other plants, the world is gloomy. I wish I had the chance to see the world in that way. But I frequently ask myself, why me? Am I just not good enough? It would be nice to stand up tall and appreciate the sun and how amazing the sky looks, and how being a part of this world is a beautiful experience. I try and try, but I am just a plant; I have no means to reproduce as I’m supposed to; I don’t have a gender. Why I’m I the only one like this? I know my purpose should be to provide oxygen for other living things, but there is no point in doing so because what do I get in return? Dog poop. At some point, when I die, I will become another plant that does the same thing over and over again.
As the days have gone on, I've tried to be more positive. And as the days continued, I've found this to be more pointless, but I am trying. Trying to be positive makes me feel better. It makes me feel like maybe I have a purpose, and there is hope. I haven't felt hope in a long time. Lately, days have seemed better; I've tried to make friends, and I mean, I am trying. Having a friend makes me feel happy for once. And as the days will continue, I will try and find my—purpose in this life.