I am the dandelion.
Transformed.

I was a useless ****.
Unwanted.

Now I am a fluffy force.
Reformed.

*******!

I sail on the wind.

I begin again.

Beware of the emoji man
Who has no real emotions
So he borrows those
Cartoon ones
And thinks that you won’t notice.

Blue is spirit and bright
The color and light
Of a wisp
Seeking through the night

Green is life and Joy
The color
Of summer time trees
The smile when you play with a toy

Yellow is the light of the night
Caring and pure
Helps anyone without a fight
They will be be your light

Black is dark but strong
More fragile then portrayed
but do not think them wrong
They still know love
But with the help of another
To light their way

Red is the sweetness of cherries
They will stay by your side
Their heart as pretty as daises
They love more pure then any other color
Just the sight of theirs or another pain
can make their eyes rain

Orange has the spirit of fire
Much like black and yellow
They will light you through the darkness
Until their fire burns out
Then they need a friend
To help them be free
And be the light they used to be

White i think the most confusing
Their hard to see
But When you see them
Their as special as anyone can be
Their quiet but always outspoken

Purple the color of a cats eyes
So watchful and careful
Ever so wise
Dont under estimate this beautiful soul
For it can go out of control
Emotions so strong but held by a string
They might need a friend
To help them find their wings

I woke up early morning
With one thought in my head.
“I cannot wait until tonight
When I am back in bed.”

I’m on my second coffee
And still I’m not awake.
I pour a third and fourth cup;
My hands are starting to shake.

Don’t attempt to speak to me
Before the clock strikes ten.
It’s hard for me to form a sentence-
Or even a word - till then.

And if you know what’s good for you
Don’t ask me “where’s that smile?”
I will not hesitate to slap you;
I’m feeling extra vile.

Luckily, this cloud will pass,
It’s just a friendly warning.
So you will know what to expect
From me tomorrow morning.

The world might have problems
And they might be true
But I have many more issues
That I can tell you

For an example, this one day
I was eating a chip
But when I looked down
I was out of dip

I sat there a minute
And opened another can
But then I ran out of chips,
Another problem I can't stand

I met my lovely ex in the market,
She saw me,
I saw her,
We met,
We smiled.
She wore a cervical collar in her neck,
I had a stent in my heart,
She could not move her neck to greet me,
My heart could not beat for her.

I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.

If I told you my surname, you would start to laugh
It's silly, but it's mine, and it's meant to last.
F
L
Y
It's a noun, not a verb,
it's a little bug which lives everywhere.

I am a fly but I can't explore the sky,
"I don't have any wings" I repeated as a child.
But when were are together,
no chain can forbid me to reach the heavens.
You are to me
something that no one else could be.
I feel more like that bug when I'm with you
than when I'm on my own,
How you manage to do so, it's something I'll never know.

I am a fly but I can't explore the sky,
"I don't have any wings" I repeated as a child.

But touching this light blu sky
I finally realize
That that was not the truth.
My wings?
It's you.