Later, I got to thinking…

These daisies are often called weeds.

Something people try to pull from the ground, overlook, or dismiss without a second thought. And yet… they still bloom. Quietly. Faithfully. Beautifully.

They don’t ask to be chosen or planted in a carefully tended garden to matter. They simply grow where they’re planted, finding light wherever they can and offering their beauty without apology.

I think people can be like that too.

Overlooked. Misunderstood. Labeled too quickly. But still carrying something beautiful inside them—resilience, kindness, strength, light—waiting for the right moment or the right eyes to notice it.

Maybe being called a “weed” doesn’t say much about what something is… and more about what someone has been taught to see.

Because I don’t see weeds.

I see something that survived.

Something that kept growing anyway.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful kind of flower there is…