My Yellow Skirt Reminds Me of a Dandelion

I sit in the puddle of my tears with a pair of scissors in my right hand. With that pair of scissors, I clip the tips of my yellow petals. It pains my legs, and I’ve never seen petals grow back. I was not pruning, I was self harming and did not realize it— Until I took it upon myself to write this down.

Here’s the thing, my yellow skirt hangs above my knees. My other skirts hang above my ankles. My yellow skirt reminds me of a dandelion. This dandy lion has yellow hair and is wild.

I’ve written of the wild scattering of precious seed when the dandelions have blown away. Yet even in their perfect bloom, I see that I had no need to cut the leaves of my skirt. I had no need of the tears or the pain, for they were self inflicted. The lovely petals framed well their lovely shape.

Otherwise, these yellow petals remind me of the gentleness of lilies. I remember now why I am amazed of the scarlet pistils and the champagne petals. It is okay. All is well. Gentleness is not sharp. I am no gardener. I lay down the scissors and stand from my tears. The glory of faith is found above, in the light of the Sun, who brings rays into my soul.

I am sorry, Lord, for hurting your precious child.