My heart is like a rose, red and beautiful.
But it also has its thorns, from pain everlasting.

My mind is like a dandelion, it sprouts with the sun.
But it is also in a million pieces, since my thoughts all scream at me.

My body is like an Autumn Adonis, glowing ever so brightly.
But it is also dangerous, since I have poison in my veins.

But I am a delicate being,

I am the Flower Child.

Springtime arrives with a rekindled fire,
Breathe the air fresh like New Year's Day;
Feel the warmth of the sun's ire,
Awakening once more the flowers of May.
Birdsong echoes through a sky that shines blue,
Joyful voices, but they aren't you -
The grass glows a brilliant green,
And I smile when I see those Irish daisies,
The golden manes that grow to fly;
Descendants of summers I fear are by.

I wake up on your side of the bed
cold, without you to bring sunlight
to dandelion bones, shaken by the
violent winds
and dimmed stars that sew our
eyes shut, together and then apart
like children on swing sets
on a warm summer night.

blow these dandelion bones far
apart and into the sky
till I’m void of anything but
battered skin and galaxy bruises
till I’m nothing but
everything.

seeds spread by whirlybirds
couples who take on thirds
love flying everywhere
trusted not and the scared
a puff, a blow, and then you go
fuzzy flight to and fro
**** ball picked and his wish
to feast upon a dreamy dish
yet a breathy breeze decides
where scattering of seed shall hide
in the fields, or cracks of pavements
lovers bound in their enslavements
to one another's dreams
dandelion dreams it seems
always never completely fulfilled
dandelion will be tilled
from immaculate and pristine lawn
or in a forest by a fawn
nourishment it is for me
its root bound deep, not free
like those dandelion seeds
rest my head upon cement
men I've met will not lament
sprouts doubts of dandelion's needs

A lump of eminence
Swells in her throat,
But she swallows it down
Flashing a shiny, humble smile.
This wild dandelion grows in the sun
and dances to the beat of the wind,
Scattering seeds of peace
And songs of love
In every corner of the world.
She floats among the stars
Crashing perfectly into
Every illustrious constellation.
As she shakes the stardust from her hair
And dusts her glitter-speckled shoulders,
She reaps the benefit
Of her selfless, meaningful offerings.

My favorite flower is the dandelion, it's color brighter than the sun
It is not a flower very much liked, and often shunned
Most people would sratch there heads
And wonder why not a hybrid one instead
It's not a flower, it's a **** and everywhere it spreads

I would so have to disagree with their view
I see it from a different point, it's true

It is the most beautiful flower I've ever seen
It has the brights yellow sheen
It's as bright as the small twinkling little eyes
That always brought me their big surprise
They are as sturdy, as the little fingers grip on to it
In their tiny hands the dandelions perfectly fit

As a mother it was the first flower
And it holds great magical power
Over my heart and mind
This flower is one of a kind
And everywhere I look I find
Pieces of memories left behind

what is worse for a dandelion?
to lose its soft, seedy ball of cotton,
blown into the wind
by a whispering dreamer?
or to fail in granting the wish
of a small child, too young to realize
that a dandelion is only a pretty little ****?

Why are you so accepted as you are?
You are a ****, no?
Something that becomes a tyrant to the other plants around it.
Yet when you pop up in yards,
Kids come to pick you for their mother.
They smile at your beauty,
And make wishes when your petals are gone.

I will not lie,
I have also been fooled by your looks.
The bight sunny yellow,
And the small petals.
Why though?
People pick you for your looks,
Not for what you really are.
They pluck you from the earth,
And put you in water for the centerpiece
At the dinner table.
They don't do it to keep you from destroying the other plants around it.
To keep you from hurting things.

Society... is funny, huh?
Only ever caring about the beauty of something, instead if what lies beneath it.

**** you, Dandelion.
You are a bitter plague.
Your putrid reputation
sows a discording stay.

Your spread your potent seed,
a curse among the others;
how will thy beauty flourish
when murdered is thy mother?

Rose has her vanity,
Daisy has her life;
but you hold a talent
for fertilizing strife.

**** you, Dandelion.
What a pity to be you.
Thy beauty holds no power,
thy talent ruins you.