Van Gogh said he would rather die
Of passion
Than of boredom,
And I wonder if that's why he shot himself.

Because in a dark and mundane world,
Where sometimes only dreamers
See the light,
It becomes a burden
To live with passion.

Oscar Wilde wrote,
"A dreamer is one who
can only find his way by moonlight,
and his punishment is that he sees
the dawn before the rest of the world."
Maybe he understood
Being a dreamer is a
Blessing of a curse.

Sometimes it doesn't seem fair
From a dreamer's eyes,
When I try to talk and say something
But no one understands.
And I breathe in-
"They'll never understand"-
Breathe out-
"Could anyone understand?"  

And everyone's perplexed
Because I cry
When they say I should laugh,
And I laugh
When they say I should cry.

Someone asked me
"What's your favorite flower?"
And when I said dandelions,
They told me they were weeds.
I said they are what you make them.

If you allow them to flourish,
They are flowers befitting a king.

If you think of them as weeds,
You won't see the beauty,
You'll only see grass
That won't grow,
Not flowers to pick for mommy,
Or what you need to make a flower crown,
And sometimes,
The more you try to rid yourself
Of dandelions,
The stronger they come back.

Just like dreamers.

If you see me
As a ****,
You won't see the blessing
In the curse.

But if you see me
As a flower,
Delicate
But stubborn,
Ready to be nurtured,
You'll see more of a blessing
Than a curse.