I used to have a plant that I loved.
The ones before neglected and left it
alone in the dark. At the base, there are still scars
yet I stared in awe whenever I saw it.
It had pink flowers mixed with bits of blue,
with a slim, tall, and strong frame.
The *** was white with a round bottom,
with red spots exposed by the chipped paint.
I loved it so hard because I wanted it to thrive,
but maybe I did too much. Every plant is different.
There was already yellow at the ends;
I didn’t notice the overwatering.
It hurt to see the plant go even though
I gave it love, and I thought it was enough.