the last time we saw each other
I was a mess

and you never got to see the person I was after that


you just gave up
that I was a cocoon and that the butterfly had perished inside
and might never come out.


but those wings are bright orange and purple

and I don’t really miss you at all.

winter
encases lakeside plants
in thick layers
of frozen white time,
preserving them
for a thousand ages
until spring.

my family loom
wove sticky woolen words
that trapped my soul
in vast expanses
of itchy incompatibility,
that wrapped me into oblivion
and fashioned their own puppet
from my mummy.

A body filled with nostalgia,
A heart filled with ache,
This is my karma,
For saying "I love you" too late.