Double red daisies, they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimes—but no,
I root them up because they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.

Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.

Double red daisy, that’s my mark:
I paint it in all my books!
It’s carved high up on the beech-tree bark,
How neat and lovely it looks!
So don’t forget that it’s my trade mark;
Don’t copy it in your books.

Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.

One in a Hundred


What if I am just a psychopath with a god delusion?
(Do psychopaths have a conscience?)
Because I need a secret
I can’t live without a secret
Something has to be MINE
But I can’t even be MINE
Because I am YOURS
And I just want to be me,
But I am you
And I can’t be YOU
Because you are so BIG but
That is ok because I’ll never be like you
Because I am not you
Because I am me
(Is that even supposed to be comforting?)

i treat you like an old favorite record

i turned on the radio
and heard a poppy song
it was easy for it to interest me
and easier for me to end up switching the station

my friend brought me to an opera
i could still hear the perfection flowing
and shivers growing inside me
like mushrooms on humid lands

but you are an old loved record
that never leaves the turntable
with scratches carved into you
after spins for the lonely soul