Oh mightily
seems a chasing sunflower
bending to the will of where light lies
My settling empty eyes, peering at holes
dug trenches burying dying seeds in heart
Does it matter, matter how long gentiles
take to germinate. You fertilize your words
in my garden; I'm always a mess

There are weeds in my garden

Stop me if you've heard this before
a sad person with the prettiest smile
Their cries lost on the fabric of a pillow
to pretend they're having fun;
He sniffed a line of salt
—stuffed rocks in his chest, it grew a rose
black rose, scarred and charred by being in the sun
He pours out his heart, the words come out as jokes
or to those listening with uninterested ears
They can't hear my pain

There are weeds in my garden

Who to cry to cry
when you've been told you've cried enough
always told to man up. Put your chest out;
you're no excuse to admit you're cut up
like a flower head cut from the source
So much to express, but so little words
so little time, so little time, so little reason
to fake a smile

There are weeds in my garden

Choked
my slurry words, speaking slurs
running words into another chasing dreams
pursuing success in less than successful ways
cheering for others jeering back at you
No excuse to cry, but just tears watering my garden
r.i.p to weeds ripped out of my garden
                             only for a moment.