you are the difference between
the salt and the honey
you both pour on my wounds
you are the way i feel
after 2 cups of coffee and
the first cigarette of the day
you are the purple, red, yellow
you are the blue in the
pigment of my knuckles after
biting them, waiting for your
sweetest replies and
your most bitter neglect
you are the gold glitter
my heart is so fond of
you are the realizations
i make and forget by morning
you've waited so long for this
i don't know how you handle
being the center of
everything i cannot

i want to live my life slow
and sweet, high on your couch,
lana del rey on repeat

I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.