baby dandelions

golden like the sun

blooming in the spring

till they turn to fuzz

flying in the wind. 

what our parents call weeds

what we called flowers when we were young. 

seems like such a sweet song

but it's never to be sung. 

making up bouquets on cool summer nights 

then blowing out our wishes while watching them take flight. 

a memory of our childhoods

but when the sun comes to rise

we see the truth

beneath illuminating skies:

what we thought were flowers

beautiful, bright and bold

were just weeds in disguise

their story untold.

Profile picture for user ninestars

ninestars

MD

15 years old

More by ninestars

See all

  • Poetry

    By ninestars

    fifteen

    I am 15, a rising sophomore struggling mentally. Can’t motivate myself to do much, still dreading the first day of school. I often find the phrase “I can’t” pouring out of my mouth as I feel out of control, laying in my mom’s arms.

    Read More

  • Poetry

    By ninestars

    bloodshot

    My body

    drowning in a

    hoodie and sweatpants

    knowing it won't

    and can't

    muster the energy

    to get up.

    Not that I

    need to.

    It's the middle

    of the night.

    But it seems

    Read More

  • Poetry

    By ninestars

    this looks familiar

    When you’re trapped

    in a place you can’t escape,  

    routines that never end,

    drowning under piles of paper, 

    with the deafening sounds 

    of endless haunting expectations 

    Read More