Dandelion in Organza
We were ribbon hung like party favors, organza dolls with hair curled into the fantasy innocence didn’t have a price. The feral me already knew the dark side of attention, the coffin sunlight becomes when a monster curtains tulips with his shadow. Born without claws I learned to sharpen my tears into crybaby scalpels people would avoid because once the truth is opened eyes could no longer claim blindness. A dandelion in a murmuration of starlings who devoured blue sky in the endless search to be called pretty, I grew in the spines of books, rainbows of escape, and the nurture of oak tree nanny’s that taught me how to stand through the harshest crushing wind. ©Susie Clevenger 2022 Shay's Word Garden Word List #9