i liken my growth to the succulents in my garden
sometimes, they struggle to keep up and their leaves shrivel and rot
in the spring, they spill out of their pots
tumbling from the rim in bountiful stems

and every year or so, one may die from mistreatment
overwatered
not enough sun
overcrowded soil

and the next day, the eldest plant blooms

anyways
i called my psychiatrist today to switch
i am growing tired of throwing money at someone who swallows my coins and fails to help me sort through my problems
i was told they'd call me back within two business days

i wait and put my mood swing on hold
knowing i'll cover it all up when they call

i will write all today until i am squeezed of all deterioration
i hope to grow as well as my propagation
when in fact, i am rotting from inside and out
chiseling away at the decay religiously in every word i speak

will i ever be enough for myself?