Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-27968758-20160106150506/@comment-3293219-20160107232218

"Urgh..." Jude grumbled, passing her a slip of paper as he broke open his bottle of ale.

"If you laugh though I'll erm... poor my drink down your top."

The paper was somewhat scrawled out, due to the fact that he didn't write it on an even surface, many concepts had been scribbled out beyond recognition.

Yet, at the center, stood a complete work...

"As a weed, I stand defient.

From shit my seeds were sown.

Though I find myself reliant

On the shit from which I grow.

Though strong winds beat me.

Though I'm often kicked.

They do not see me.

I haven't been picked.

Though I do not fruit.

Or bloom in spring.

From being a tiny root.

I have survived everything.

I might not be pretty.

I might not be pleasant.

My past is gritty.

My stem is cresent.

But I am a survivor.

Of that I am proud.

No one can best me.

Not man, nor cloud."