“Supposed to” Garden (Rhyming Draft)

“Supposed to” Garden

I tried to plant a garden… 

I prepped the soil

and believed what others 

said wouldn’t spoil.

I bought the right dirt 

they said I should buy,

and the heritage seed

not from a corporation that lies. 

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 doted on them too much 

or never enough. 

I watched little green sprouts 

peek out from the soil. 

And convinced myself

that they were the proper results

of my labor and toil

They were everywhere.

I was a success!

I stood over them 

with zero regrets. 

My garden was going to be

the envy of my friends.

I posted images, pressed send,

knowing they’d be proud in the end. 

They would seek my garden advice 

so they too could imitate

from the comfort of their device,

to fill their own plate. 

Time passed and though I planted 

many kinds of seed

All of the sprouts started looking 

the same to me.

Weird, I thought, 

but I’ll wait to concede 

until after I see 

all their fruitage is freed.

The time finally came to harvest my result. 

Fruitage my family could never insult. 

Because of my sweat and grace from above,

I would finally have solved the riddle of love. 

A parent’s affection finally felt

In my struggle for them 

to be happy in good health. 

But my crop?

Weeds.

No fruit from my seeds.

Why?

What else could they possibly need?

I bought the right earth.

I built the right hearth. 

I overcompensated for my vice

with the conventional advice.

I did my rain dance 

and loved in abundance.

I sang them a song.

How could I get this wrong?!

I realized this was never

“supposed to” be my garden.

So I would never get a pardon. 

My only results were a few freaky carrots.

And you know what? 

I’m not even embarrassed. 

I actually love those little freaks.

They were the only good thing

to come out of my multitude of weeks. 

The only two blessings from my “supposed to” garden.

“Supposed to” make me healthy.

“Supposed to” make me happy.

“Supposed to” be the best use

of my youth and my burden.

I didn’t reap what I sowed

I wasn’t even given what’s owed. 

And while I gave it my best, 

and someone else might have made a success,

It was never meant to be me.

You see, I was meant to be free. 

So never listen to the “supposed to” words that they speak.

Let everyone be free… 

The nerds and the geeks

and please, please, please

just leave me be 

with my little freaks. 

Jesse Lee — 11/10/2025