When On Me They Cannot Feed

In life, we meet diverse kinds of people, Whose variegated roots somehow differ From that where we found growth, where we matured And this trait marks some of them - sandpaper. They are those who burden us heavy loads Of needless spite and pricking mordancy, Whose prying eyes focus on our foibles Whose lips are quick to harp on misery. Like intruding weeds on our life's garden, We meet them as some petty annoyance. Their thousand words spread out when we're absent- In our presence, cannot find utterance. Yet they seem to crave for our company, For without us - there would be none to rub! They plague with demands, endless scrutiny, Their irksome talk and they way they back stab. I've found my life had been so much better I've put up walls protecting me from weeds, People who rub the wrong way, like weeds fester- They wither when on me they cannot feed. Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~01.17.15