My body is a vase,
with fantasies flowering out the top of my head
in bright and beautiful colours.
I want to touch them, to feel them in my hands,
but they die before I can grab them.
They wither before I can rip them from my skull and into reality,
and I am left with dead petals and thorns
that cut into the weathered skin of my palms.

You were a flower
in the garden up in my brain,
and I didn’t reach for your stem
for fear of losing even the pleasant idea of having you.
I gave you water and sunlight
and you grew until my head started to ache
under the weight
of unrequited love.

-Emma Cooper