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.