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Where The Wild Things Grow
They told me that my smile
was sinking into the soil
of the Earth
and the roses once blooming
on the corners of my lips
were wilting once again.
They told me that I was nothing but
a weed growing in the garden of Eden,
and just like Lucifer was,
I'd be blown away.
But what they didn't know
when they plucked my roots
from the ground
and threw me into the hurricane
was that you can't get rid of a dandelion...
Orange petals grow thick out
of my scalp
and even though my heart's a tragedy
I grow in troops you've never seen before.
They tell me that I'm crazy,
And I'll admit I am-
But that's the beautiful thing
about dandelions:
They grow wilder than ever before.
I am where the wild things grow.
I am where the dandelions bloom
when gardeners scatter their seeds.
I am where the weeds twist out
in poems you could never dream.
My mind is wrapped in thick vines
that are rotting from their cores,
but that's okay because flower looking weeds
are opening up to the sun from the dark.
I am not the girl that plucks flowers
so she can dance with them in the rain-
I am the rain.
I am the flowers.
I am the dance.
I am where the wild things grow.
I am not where they decay.
They tell me that I am simply a weed,
broken upon repair,
but I can't help but laugh at their stupidity
as I grow and grow my hair.
They all watched as my seedlings scattered into
the dust of the universe,
but they didn't know my roots were nebulas
and my petals were planets
waiting to be discovered.
I am where the wild things come back to life
when they're on the verge of dying.
I am where the normal things die when they
get drunk off my pollen.
I, myself, am a wild thing
and I will grow grow grow.
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When I first got the idea for this poem, I was looking at my yard, dry of inspiration. I was obeserving the way the dandelions looked against the grass, and I started thinking about a hidden philosophy for them. As I wrote the poem, I thought about how the dandelions were hated by so many people, and how all these gardeners wanted to do nothing but get rid of them. This poem is about accepting oneself and realizing how beautiful the world really is.