What to do
What to do
A constant thought
What to do
I don't want to think
I want to do
But i'm paralyzed by the sight of you
I want to do
I want to do
What's best for me
What's best for you
But what to do
Oh, what to do
I'm lost
I'm scared
Of losing you
But I don't know
What to do
I don't know
What to do

Dandelions are pretty
But my father said they are weeds
He pulled them out of the earth
And threw them out

But she told me that my father was wrong
That dandelions aren’t weeds
That they are beautiful
And yet some people can't see that
Because like me, their fathers taught them wrong
She said it wasn't wrong for me to think they are beautiful
It wasn't wrong to blow their little seeds
secretly
making sure my parents didn't see
Because some people are taught to stay away from beauty

In reality dandelions don't steal nutrients
Rather they nourish the plants around them
With their wide roots that pull from deep within the earth
And share with everyone they meet  

They make the world happy
And the grass greener

They are beautiful

You made me happy
So I gave you a dandelion that I picked from the earth
I cut it from the stem just for you
But you didn't take it
You thought it was a ****

I tried again
Because I remembered what she told me
“Dandelions aren’t weeds”
“They are beautiful”
But when you took my flower
You dropped it on the concrete

You too, were taught that dandelions are weeds
But the difference is:
you let yourself believe it’s true

My life isn't fiction
Though it may seem that way
When things just line up on the right time on the right day
To create something radiant
And wonderful
And pure
My life isn't fiction
Cause there's one thing that i'm sure:

The end isn't written
fate can always change
And im the only one
Who can control what's on each page

I built myself a home
Made of pieces of me
Made of things I saw
And things I felt

I built myself a home
Only using what I needed
Only using what was there
And only what was exceptional

I built myself a home
Long before I was old enough to know  
Long before I was old enough to see
What it was like to love the ones around me

I built myself a home
Because I wanted nothing to do with anyone else
Because I wanted it to just be me and the earth
I built it because I didn't know

I didn't know what was beyond those trees
I didn't know who was in those houses
But I knew the forest
And I knew myself

I built myself a home
It was safe
It was still
And It was enough for me

I built myself a home
But seasons change
And water flows
And the tide carries you somewhere new

Somewhere new to build a home
Maybe now I can grow
Maybe now I don't have to be alone

Maybe now I can build a home
For you

Right before she broke my heart I said to her
“You know, there is beauty to be found in gloom and despair. It's just a different type of beautiful”


There is something beautiful in the pain we feel
There is something magnificent in heartbreak
And something glorious in grief

There is beauty in the departure of beauty
The absence is its own beautiful
It leaves like a strong gust of wind through the moors
Wiping away the color as it passes

There is beauty in transition
The realization as a woman's face drops
When she hears the news of her husband's death
You can see the color, and the hope flush out
as she realizes this new reality

There is beauty in the real
There is no such thing as perfection
To be the most perfect, there must be pain
And all pain leads to love

There is beauty in rebirth
The tree that drops her seeds
Not only to die
But to grow a new beautiful
Sprouting from the ashes of the destroyed hearts before it

I don't want you to love me
That was never the goal

I want you to believe me
And everything I say
I want you to see what I see
When I look into your eyes
I want you to hear what I hear
When you open your mouth

I just want to love you
So you can love yourself

My brain is not a puzzle piece
Its tangled strings of thought
You are not here to put me back together
I am here to simply untangle myself
Each tangled string is complete and strong
They shine with bright colors of the rainbow
It's truly beautiful

My brain is not that of the ones around me
It is my abstract painting
Placed in a museum with a crowd of young and old
Some say it's not art
And grunt as they walk by
While others jot down ideas
On how to perfect their own piece

My brain is truly and thoroughly my own
My own to shape
And my own to love