It’s funny,

Everyone loves wildflowers,

The different colors bursting like paint,

Varying heights and changing sizes,

How beautiful in its diversity.

Yet,

They always spot me,

Huddled in a group of petunias,

A weed in the wildflowers,

A _taraxacum,_

Or a dandelion.

I used to make wishes,

Letting my seeds carry dreams,

Leaving me bare and battered,

Plucked from the garden.

I slowly learned the world is no place for a weed,

No matter how much of myself I gave,

How many wishes I tried to grant,

Or how hard I tried to blend in,

I am still a dandelion.

_Taraxacum_.

A weed in a field of wildflowers.