He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.

you dye my hair
and teach me how to sew,
you give me advice
and hear me out when i cry, too.
when i treat you bad
or when i try my best
i feel at ease, but guilty,
because it is you -
i wish to give you
more than i ever could.

forgive me,
for i am a monster
that cannot fight as well
as you do, i cannot parent
as well as you do;
you are so bright,
in both stance and wits,
even when you're clumsy too.

i love all of your jokes,
and the way you laugh,
and the way you're always first
on the scoreboard of your old FPS.
i love all of your hobbies
and the way you're full of knowledge,
yes, tell me more about what the Romans do.

thank you for showing me
how to read these
dumb scripts, and how not
to get an F in an essay.
what the professors hate,
and why i might not fail.
for cheering me up,
for trying so hard;

just know,
you are seen too.

I love you, too.