Where The Wild Things Grow

July 5, 2017
By SkyleeEstby BRONZE, Woodinville, Washington
SkyleeEstby BRONZE, Woodinville, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane." -John Green

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

The author's comments:

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. 

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