Soft scuffling of grandpas boots on the wet dirt
As he kicks a rock down the path
A soft sigh escapes his lips
And the rock falls into a small mud bath

The sun slowly rising
The new warmth spread across my face
As i close my eyes
I hear grandpa soothing voice
we’ll be there soon he says

I open my eyes to
The dew covering the fresh cut green grass
In the wide open field
The daffodils and tulips ready to bloom
Forming a shield around the new stone
That has been placed in the middle

The place grandma always loved
Her favorite spot for lunch
We’d share the pies she’d baked
And grandpas ham sandwiches

My nose filled with the smell of fresh soil
Grandpa pulls me in my little red wagon
Down the small hill
Its squeaky wheels and long black handle
A handful of daisies
And me in my white sandals

Grandpa pulls up to the stone
And a soft tears escapes his eyes
down his wrinkled cheeks
As he pulls a single **** that had grown

I squeeze his firm hand
The tears fade
And a smile appears
As he kisses my head
And looks up to the sky

Sometimes,
You can smell grandmas perfume
And pies in the field
She sits and waits
As grandpa returns
Day after day
For lunch.

I built a home for you, out of me,
when the bricks break
it is because I have been raided. The blue sky's
not even immune to cloudbursts
the humid air lifts
to resemble some form of heartbreak.
Call it
a mushroom cloud, I go off almost nuclear.

The truth loves me enough to reveal itself
the truth loves me
even when you do not.

I've decorated the staircase with it
and discovered rope-burn,
calluses like children wanting you to just watch
what they can do
watch a ceremony. What fathers create.  

I've padded its feet
with snow, the whole summer leaks with December
and my kneecaps are rotting wood.

Creaking
using garland as a noose
you know when I walk and when I sit, the truth
cannot stand for not knowing.

I've not let it lay down either,
this ****** affair. My
walls stay white and unheard of, untouched
yours are only
the cream of glue, I should have kept the doorway
shut and tied to you with a string.
Not even the truth can dissolve over a lie
(but I can, I can, I).

But
when God smells fear, he makes it happen
and God can be
a man, a woman, a lover.

They come in the night
The monsters
Tear down the walls
You built
Destroy
They don't care that you're nice
Or you get all A*s
Or you have friends
Or that you love them
They hurt them anyway
Because your own problems
Are rarely just your own
And that's the worst part