I am going to continue to water you even when your thorns stab me I am going to continue to assist your growth even though your thorns don't want me to touch you You're going to be the most beautiful thing my garden has ever seen
Blows of grime frigidly strike me from another dust bowl Your small storms build up under my nails into a calcified crescent. These claws are now the most dense part of me. My frail bones resemble paper mache in comparison. So, I gnaw the claws off to preserve what once was.
A resemblance to little stumps, from cut trees, or clipped branches? Which would hurt, less? Leaving a drought all together with one swift cut or pruning off the sickness.
I don’t want to scratch skin the way your high speed sand does! Rippling over my aching arms!
I want.. I should Create an oasis, one out of those sick branches to shield my once Sandy eyes
Dig for comfort in the calm I built
Settle ... Dream
to build armor of twine and run Into the storm with no tears in my eyes
leave a note in the dirt with my soft stubs and walk out of your dessert.