My life is a lot like the rich soil of my home state. 

Soil is helpful, nourishing, and provides a lot, but is often underestimated by people. 

Unless of course, you are a farmer or botanist. Then you understand just how useful the rich soil is.

Few people understand my feelings and heart. They soothe me when I'm broken and upset but then talk about me behind my back.

Spreading hateful words like the weeds that spread through the fields. 

It's just as toxic as the pesticides used. 

I need some pesticides to remove the pests in my life.

The two-faced liars, the ones who start unnecessary drama and start untrue rumors, the ones who judge.

They're just pests.

Killing me at the source.

Taking my nutrients, or in this case, my patience and state of mind. 

I'm not okay. My mind is withering like a tomato plant, choked by dandelions and grass, uncared for. 

But like everything else in this cruel world, the strongest survive, and the weakest are killed. 

Survival of the fittest it's called, or natural selection.

Whichever you prefer.

It's all the same. 

But like the hard topsoil, my mental state seems to have itself together.

In one piece. Stable and strong. 

Pick it up. Hold it for a bit.

But careful.

One wrong, gentle twist of your fingers, and it will crumble to fine, powdery dust. 

Awaiting for a breeze strong enough to blow it all away. 

I'm fragile, so please don't break me. 

Protect, love, and care for me, then sit back and watch. 

I'll turn into something lovely after some time.