“Supposed to” Garden

I tried to plant a garden.

I prepped the soil

and studied how others said it should be done.

I bought the right dirt

they said I should buy.

I picked the heritage seed

and I railed against the evil corporation.

I chose the crop of the season

like I was told.

I planted vegetables

that were “supposed to” grow.

I hate vegetables.

I watered them often,

showering them in love.

I loved on them too much.

I watched little green sprouts peek out

of the fertilizer, rich soil,

and convinced myself

that they were the proper results

of my labor and toil.

They were everywhere.

I was successful

or so I told myself.

My garden was going to be

the envy of my friends.

I posted images of my process,

knowing they would be proud,

that they would come to me for advice

so they too could imitate

my heritage garden.

Time passed.

Though I planted many kinds of seed

the sprouts all started looking the same.

Weird, I thought,

but what do I know?

My harvest time came.

The result of my hard work and discipline

would yield results.

Maybe because of my sweat and effort

I would come to love

my hard-earned vegetables.

Perhaps my family would appreciate

my labor of love

and sacrifice

for their health and happiness.

My crop?

Weeds.

No veggies.

Why?!

I did what they said was right.

I bought the right earth.

I built the right structure.

I overcompensated for my lack of experience

with the conventional advice.

I poured out waters of love in abundance.

Maybe it was a bit much.

How did I get this wrong?

I realized this was never

“supposed to” be my garden.

My only results were a few freaky carrots.

I actually love those little freaks.

They were the only good thing

to come out of that garden,

the only happy surprise

from my “supposed to” garden.

“Supposed to” make me healthy.

“Supposed to” make me happy.

“Supposed to” be the best use

of my time and my youth.

I didn’t reap what I sowed

and while someone else

might have made a success

of my “supposed to” garden,

it was never going to be me.

They can have my “supposed to” garden.

Just leave me my freaky carrots.

Jesse Lee — 11/10/2025