weeded

dandelions are weeds,

you said.

laughed.

i wish you could see them

really see. because if you could see them, if you could see their

yellow--

green--

vibrancy, you'd see

joy--

life--

hope, for a future. 

you'd see their laughter their hopes their dreams their sorrows their tears, all wrapped up in a

green rosette and a yellow fluffy bundle, tied neatly at the top

but you don't.

 

i followed you around, offered you

the world. my world. you said i lied

and i did

with good intentions, but i did

and when i cried, i had to let go and accept the loss

and you mattered to me, more than you can know

but dandelions

are weeds.

This poem is about: 
Me

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