i am tired of being a dandelion

by Laura Supnik

to the ones who still wish on expired stars to the dandelions that have been blown away to the dreams that will only ever be dreams

why do i always seem to read welcome signs on doors that remain locked?

i suppose i do not write to forget you but rather to remind myself why i need to

i grab two, just in case there are not enough fortune cookies or shooting stars to reassure me that l...

holding my breath when you walk by i’ll take my breath away before you can

if it is meant to be it will happen but i wish it did not have to take this long for me to wait and see if it would become something that it was never going to be

cupid’s bow does not shoot stars anymore only eyes i cannot catch and names that will never taste my lips

i won’t stop looking through old frames until i find new pictures to put in them.

grab you like car keys like muscle memory, like i can’t leave without you.

you have been too many last poems

i wonder if you remember my birthday anymore. i wonder if you even wish me happy.

i let time distance our last conversation in light years and i still carry the embers in my mouth when fire falls from the sky.

how many castles will it take us to build before we start believing in happy endings again?

all my meadows have caught fire and the wind has stopped exhaling its exhaustion while i continue to blow dandelions in your honor or pick off more petals on flowers because i’ll get to say he loves me more than once i don’t want him to love me not

some things are never resolved some questions never answered what ifs dusted with the past sometimes closure is a door left open

my father tells me this often though i am not in search of the one but rather someone to show me the paths in a forest i’m not sure how to get lost in yet try to learn how to breathe in smoke before i start the blaze try to learn how to survive a fire before i light the match

i can’t keep losing parts of me at the expense of a dream that may not get to exist.

i have always been a comet but you were never looking up

i know how to make you pretty when i write but i’m still figuring out how to make you mine.

i am tired of being a dandelion and trying to get you to blow me away

you look at me like you would take me in any way that i came like you aren’t afraid to catch a comet with your bare hands

i am a shooting star that you cannot ignore

you gave me more in a september than what i get on christmas day. gave me enough hope to last me this far and now i realize how you did just enough damage so now i always have something to write about.

i think it’s still love even if it’s unrequited

it just means they stayed long enough to carve initials under parts you can’t see you are allowed to mourn their absence without wishing for their return

shooting pretty stars so i can stop chasing things that fall further away from me

i don’t know where i’m going but at least i’m on my way