I spent the first half of my life as a dreamer.
I went on adventures with the wind
and floated on the buds of a dandelion,
wandering aimlessly with the wishes of others.
Once I was late to school because I got lost
with the hope of a father coming home.
He never did.
I got too close to the sun when I hitched a ride on a bluebird.
I told him not so high but he didn't listen.
So I spent a few days on the ground under a tree.
I saw two lovers carve their initials into her bark.
She wept for days.
Those scars will never fade but the feelings behind them will.
I had the freedom to dance with the stars
and sleep in the curve of a waning moon.
But when it grew rounder,
I slide off its fullness
and fell into the ground.
The clouds tickled me whenever I went through them.
And then they disappeared on adventures of their own.
They never invited me to join
so I kept on moving too.
I twisted with swirls of smoke,
intoxicated with the beauty
of death escaping from a burning cigarette.
I dug myself into the soil,
pulled the dandelion bud down with me.
We sprouted up to the sky, reborn.