Miss Dandelion
A woman’s true beauty is unknown to my knowledge.
Is it those eyes? Those lips? The way she lives life on the edge?
So young, so soft, so fragile at the start,
won’t demolish a single boundary, or man that breaks her heart.
Oh but why? Cause she’s so much better than that,
to stoop to any level that could steer her off her tracks.
Stumble and trip; always dress to impress.
Heels to make her feel power she wants to detest.
But how can she resist with all these eyes she’ll never see?
Again, forever strangers and that’s all that they will be.
A perspective shouldn’t matter or make her who she is,
and because of her modesty she’ll just continue to miss;
Miss America the beautiful, miss understand,
doesn’t matter who you are or if you’re not a perfect ten.
As long as you find, a man to kiss your hand,
or if you collapse, someone who’ll help you stand.
A gent no less than a prince to call your own,
that’ll sweep you off your sore feet that’ll help you feel at home.
So take off your shoes and leave 'em at the door,
wander round outside and together you’ll explore.
Through the town, through the woods, through a field of only flowers,
like life itself, the variety of beauty’s dispersed all over.
Nothing feels right if you don’t feel right with yourself.
Accept that you shouldn’t change and stop denying that you’re well.
True beauty is delicate, no thorns, so all you know is,
how it feels to be a dandelion in a field of roses.
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