I was ashamed.
Ashamed of the garden growing
between my legs
Ashamed that i had been so
preoccupied with my depression
that i hadn't had time to mow the
lawn, for you,
But you didn't know that.
Neither of us knew it was going to
happen that way
In the greenroom of an educational institution
Where we somehow learnt more
than what
The curriculum asked us to.
I somehow learnt what you
intended to teach me.
and as i wrapped my pudgy fingers
around your manhood,
You disengaged the clasp of my bra.
Asking how something of such
sheer complexity could be
Done by me
Every morning
every night.
I was ashamed.
Ashamed of how my ******* were brown
Like days old bananas
Unlike bright summer berries.
Unlike the ******* of those girls you
watched from the back of the class.
I was ashamed of the cellulite
on my thighs
And i refused to let you see
My big girl body with weeds in the garden.
But you slipped your hand
down my skirt
And asked me if i liked it.
I said yes, i leaned back into you, and i said
Yes;
Yes;
Yes;
over and over and over again
But i felt empty.
Like how you felt after your
string of pearls
Had been released.

When i dropped you off at the door,
You did not hug me.
When i tried to hold you hand
You walked away
You said you would, if you had time
But you always have time for other
girls.
Or maybe its because i dont
remind you much of a girl anymore.
I am an empty bottle
A candle exhausted of any wax
A body with burns and bruises
caused by a civil war raging in my
brain
Of paranoia because i know
I can never be loved.
Or maybe i'm a candle whose wax
is love.
I am dilapidated apartment in a
suburban neighbourhood
An object you threw away when it went past expiry date.
One man's waste is every man's
waste.
I am used tissue paper.
Don't touch me.

Your explanation was quiet
It felt like a cold bath on a winter day.
And i said okay.
And i agreed that it would be okay
if you left this
Deteriorated, haunted dwelling
For a home.
I only wanted what was best for
you.
Don't Worry About Me.
I said.
I'll be okay
I'll do stuff
I’ll open an orphanage
I’ll travel the world
I’ll cook
I’ll read
I’ll write
Maybe i’ll find my Pedro who will be the Juan for me.
But my calm was a veil you could see through
But did nothing about

But you see, my love,
As i sowed the seeds of your own
garden
You told me
I was a used toy.
I didn't bring any excitement, or joy.
And so that evening, after you refused to pick up my call
no matter how many times i called,
You stubbed a cigarette on my
passion.
You poured water over burning
embers by saying you were
‘Not sure’ whether you loved me.
You reminded me of how you ran
your fingers through the weeds in
my garden
And i questioned
Is is because you like other girls
houses?
With nicer gardens?
With an electric heater instead of a
bonfire that lights up like a gehenna.
That night, you told me we should
rethink
You stopped saying i love you and
when you left,
You did not hug me at the door.
I trimmed my garden
And polished the furniture
And sent you pictures of our newly
decorated mansion
But this home, was now empty.
You left it haunted by the idea that
no one could love a displaced storm.
It's still empty.
It's a mansion that has an
overgrown garden again
The weeds are spilling out
And i can't bother to trim them anymore.