dande(lie)ons

by Grace Nobles

how could anyone love anyone but
a boy who gets high on the weather,
who
buries dandelions after wishing on them?
dandelions aren’t flowers but
weeds, and it’s just that someone decided
we were all going to make our
wishes on weeds for the rest of our childhood, for the rest of our
lives, I have
things
I wanted to wish on and if my only choices are
candles that represent the passing of
time, a concept humans created, in relation to my
age, a concept humans created, or
burning masses of gas which are
probably already dead or
plants that kill everything beautiful around them,
I choose not to wish at all.
the irony of it is
I am a weed in his garden of
daisies, his garden of
chrysanthemums, his garden of
tulips, his favorite flowers but
he tells me I kill everything beautiful he tells me I...
am…
everything beautiful he tells me I
don’t see the beautiful in everything.
it is so easy to believe a rose who tells you that
you are a weed.
he would have me believe that
I am choking, killing, destroying
every beautiful thing I touch but he
he buries dandelions after wishing on them.
he buried me he
choked me, killed me, destroyed me,
wished
on me and
he doesn’t know it all he knows is that
he is trying to wish on a dandelion
without pulling it out of the ground