I remember the day you told me your job.
I was over joyed at the fact that I can have pink grass,
A colour that represented me so perfectly.
I was a princess and that is the colour to represent me.
You laughed at the thought as I continued going on about glitter and lights in twined between each blade.
I smiled as I imaged you and your crew working on my yard and I lean against the house admiring the movement of the muscles on your back.
I remember the first time we called,
We had just met the day before as I was enthralled with your imagination and I wanted to play.
I was nervous but you didn't know.
I don't remember what we spoke, but I remember your laugh,
I remember the teasing and I remember your infatuation with my breast.
No, I wasn't offended.
I am a ***** and I appreciate the flattery,
Can you get in my pants?
Yes with a price of your daily attention.
It has been months since the mention of pink grass,
My grass welts now and dirt scatters my yard.
My skirt is pulled up and I stare at a screen,
Waiting... waiting...
How is your grass? How are your needs? How are you and me?
I never hear from you anymore and I come to my conclusion,
I will never get my pink grass.

If you were to die tomorrow.
I swear to give you half my life.
So, if you were to die again.
Your story will end after mine.

You made to shine

In muddy waters, rusted wires,

muted hues of two tone sweaters, tangled hair and sleep filled eyes,

were once the chains of this steadfast child,

             starving.

My wings are broken.
I can't fly anymore.
The passion that grew my feathers
Is the poison that is killing me.
Loving and hoping...
But killing me nonetheless.
Too far to turn back.
Close enough to see the end.
I want to fly again.

I spit in your fire
and it hungers my heat,
It boils
    and rages
      to my sugar beet.

Smothered to a flicker
when you curl
at a flame;
but fires won't light
when I'm whispering your name.