I want the pertinacity of a Dandelion.

I do

It’s true.

I want to, when cut down by sharp blades of insensitivity and criticism,

be able to duck my head and avoid the fatal stroke

and instead

pop my head back up

in spite.

I want to look bright and obvious

an in-your-face “look at me”

all sunny disposition and obnoxious cheeriness.

I want to have deep stubborn roots

that grow

reaching places that are cramped and stifling

lifting me up

breaking through stone.

And

when I’m old

I want to bring laughter and amusement

my grey head of fluff

blown

little story seeds

dancing in the wind.