I’m a gardener
But I don’t grow things
I fix them
All the weeping willows that come to me

I glue back together
All the roses that have been ripped
I water all the sunflower that are wilting
With praise and kindness

I fertilize all of the bluebells
With my own rotten experience
I feed all the flytraps
With my soaring sprit

Or with what was my soaring spirit
For what I didn’t know
Was that I was sparing all my sunlight
All my praise and love

My soaring spirit ripped to shreds and given out as rations
All of my rotten experience and infected wounds
Torn open to sting again

Everyone else came first
Because I labeled myself as last place
I had wrung myself dry to water others
No more strength to process the sunlight everyone gave me
The fake sunlight everyone gave me

But still I gave away the last parts of me
And when I asked if they could spare a little              A little of what they made from what I gave them
I realized that I was surrounded by weeds