someone tell her she's pretty
because she doesn't think she's pretty--
a linguistic sin deep enough to cause lacerations,
so stop tearing angel skin.

but my inert heart has been far from heaven
for some happenstance kiss to take
and yours was searching for a place
to plant a garden,
well i made it hard to.

and you got red in the face
when the squash came up blighted
when the weeds conspired to strangle the hydrangeas to death
when i sold strawberries the insects
and i was inside, just scrolling on my phone

and when i told you i was quitting
you turned over the turnips
dirt was flying everywhere
you're gonna make me regret it

but you should know
all these years i fancied myself i gardener
i think i might be more
of a *******