Just A Rock In A Field Of Flowers
I feel like a small, average rock in a field of gorgeous flowers. The flowers serve no other purpose than to look pretty and we all know their beauty will just eventually wilt away. But the rock is practical. It has many uses, strong and will remain the same for years to come. Everyone knows that when you need something reliable, sturdy, practical, you will surely choose the rock. But yet everyone has to stop and stare at the flowers. The flowers get attention, admiration, and passers-by usually walk without knowing of the rock's existence. I would never want to be a flower. I would never want to be a part of that shallow, field of identical girls. But I can't help but feel insignificant, average, slighted, even jealous of that field of flowers. Somehow it just doesn't seem fair that those with the traits you are always taught are important, fade into the foliage; hidden by the grass, covered in the dirt, and shaded by those flowers.