Dandelions
Half my life was spent keeping my fingers crossed.
Once for hopes- while holding my breath for some much needed luck-
and twice for bold faced lies.
Until hope became my lie, that is,
while a castle of cards was built around me
and a throne of lies beneath me.
But before that, there are memories.
I know I used to blow on dandelions the same way I blew on candles.
The little seeds of impossible dreams scattered in the wind
The little seeds of impossible dreams scattered in the wind
just like the smoke danced before my eyes.
The dandelions filled our front yard, each one an extra chance.
The dandelions filled our front yard, each one an extra chance.
An extra smile.
An extra laugh.
I hid a book under my pillow every night.
I wrote down every idea I had.
I put four blankets, three pillows, and five stuffed animals on my bed just because I could.
I got scared watching The Jungle Book.
I didn't step on the cracks, for fear of mother's wrath.
I bought a matching outfit with my best friend for twin day.
I helped my sister learn to read.
I showed my dad every drawing, every sketch in my notebook.
I played make believe with my brother.
Owned Pokemon cards.
Loved dressing up.
Played with dolls.
Sprained my thumb catching a football.
Watched Arthur every morning.
Sat in the high chair even though I was too big.
The memories are endless.
But there are only a few candles to spare for the birthday cake.
We don't usually use them.
Mom likes to reuse them.
Wick shortens.
Wax drips.
Gone.
Because the wishes that I wished did not, could not, and will not come true.
On my sixth birthday, I wished for a trampoline.
On my ninth birthday, I wished for a guinea pig.
On my twelfth birthday, I wished for love.
On my fifteenth birthday, I wished for normalcy.
On my seventeenth birthday, I wished for nothing.
Dad bought weedkiller. There are no longer dandelions that sway in the wind,
begging to help calm an overactive imagination.
They say that hope is poison.
That yeah, it's good to keep your hopes up, but you don't want to be let down.
That false hope can seep into your bones until it becomes your very being
and then stop the beating of your heart when the dreams and plans come crashing to a halt.
But I'm here to say keep your head up.
Keep picking dandelions and putting candles on the birthday cake.
Keep shooting for the stars.
Keep making memories.
And until I can do that, I'm trying my best to put a hand in my pocket.
Because only one hand can cross fingers here, only hopes and dreams allowed.
Only wishes.
Because then, the throne of lies disintegrates.
And without the throne, a castle will crumble.
And you and I will be free.
This poem is about:
Me
My family