they picked the brightest flower;
not the one
wilted,
bent at the stem,
dull from too little sun.
i never expected it to be me—
but god,
i wanted it to be.

i open the curtains
behind my windowsill
so you can glow in the sun—
light spilling over your petals,
straight into my eyes.
they water, of course,
but you look so radiant
i forget to blink.

i breathe you in, and everything burns.
my eyes won’t stop itching,
my chest feels heavy,
my throat a slow flame—
the weight of loving you.
but i never move you.
i let you bloom
right beside me,
because love, i think,
is sometimes choosing the ache.

She said:
“I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So please, just go away.”

“Find someone else to console,
The aching heart you display;
I’m too drained to help,
So please, just go away.”

“Ok, fine,” I reply.
“I’ll leave your room and let you rest.”
“I’ll let you lie here,” I sigh
“I’ll cry alone, a broken mess.”

She said to me, “I need your help
I’m sad and lonely here, so please
I know how broken you have felt,
But just forget that and help me.

I say, “No. I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So turn around and go away.”

Maybe before, if you were there
If you had held me in your arms
I would soothe your pain, would care
About this thing causing you harm

But you made me too tired to help,
Made me too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So take your tears— and go away.