I once mistook the fresh soil you poured down my throat for butterflies. But love should not crawl deep inside you And tie your vocal chords in knots.
Gardens now infest my lungs in the same ****** place where you carefully dug yourself a grave. I make bouquets with the flowers that burst from the rotting marrow of your bones. —“your absence taught me fertility”
my Instagram is @macyforte if you want to see more poetry
Writing this piece was a trouble, says the story of a lovely couple. A dinky apartment of 2 BHK. Each day as lively as a flower in a freshly made bouquet. First light was marked with peck. Followed with looking for specs on the head. Before the office came a hug, that was addictive as a drug. Their love moved the machine, and so was their routine. Today was no different, For the going to be parent. The peck, the spec, the hug and lunch. All love showered in a bunch. An extra kiss for the bump. Promised to be back before the moon came up. Had to return early, to take her to the hospital securely. The staff started to prepare. Sat reciting a prayer. That happiness was no lie, when heard his baby girl cry. Their eyes were full, when saw their daughter beautiful.
midsummer day- The sun was calling us by the names Two little brace faced dorks running out her back screen door To find a secret hideout for the day With composition books in hand of course Our Top Secret composition books, Where we wrote about our futures, and boys (shhhh)
We ruled the streets of Bennington woods Claiming the oak tree in someone’s yard Where we competed for height in our cheap foam flip flops Owning the pine trees of another Where we spied on the teenagers Trying to understand their secret language But it was under an old wooden porch where we pulled out the books And this time, we’d plan our weddings
We would wear beautiful dresses and pointy high heels Just like a princess And most certainly marry our dreamy little blue eyed boy crushes I even crossed my heart and hoped to die so she would be my maid of honor Last but not least, we had to choose our wedding flowers
It was the season of flowers; tulips, daisies, marigolds… Every house was decorated in a colorful array We ran exuberantly, scanning our options Then began to pick away Every flower we knew or didn’t, As long as we had one of each We covered the entire street til our hands and books were overflowing At home we taped them into our precious journals Sealed forever so we would remember, These were the flowers we’d have in our wedding bouquets