When we were little,
We used to play in the meadow adjacent to the bustling highway,
Always sure to stay far away from the danger that the road held.
As we got older,
We would dare each other to touch the dandelions,
The ones that ran next to the road,
And eventually to tap a foot on the blacktop.
We finally grew up,
And I would hold your hand while staring at the abandoned path.
There was no need to use it anymore,
Except for the occasional traveler.
Suddenly, you stood up,
Your pale, soft skin brushing gently against mine.
I stand up next to you with a curious glance.
You give me a bold and flirtatious smile,
Your long hair trailing behind you
As you run towards the highway.
I grin and follow suit,
Until we’re standing side by side at the edge.
You will take a deep breath
And cross the road in a few long leaps.
I will put my foot on the ground and close my eyes,
Running after you.
But when I open my eyes on the other side,
You will be gone
Because I will remember
Attending your somber funeral
And holding your sobbing mother.

Life gives you lemons,
Make lemonade.
Cut the chunks of ice
with the knife that’s tasted your blood.
Squeeze the lemons into the cuts littered on your arm,
Grit your teeth and savor the burn.
Collect all the sugar from your syrupy lies,
And all the times you’ve deceived.
Stir it together with the long list of things
That are wrong with you.
So now whenever I drink cold lemonade,
You’re the first thing I think of.

She was like a flower,
Pollen drifting through the air,
Her leaves fluttering in the wind,
The stem twisting and snapping and breaking.
Soon her head drooped on the ground,
No more strength to turn to the sun.
Seeds popped out like droplets of water,
No one wanted her in their garden.
Her words all stilted,
Her petals all wilted,
Soon she decomposes.