What a ridiculous thing
to avoid what makes you hurt.
A refusal to acknowledge
the prickers on the cactus
or the shattered glass gleaming.
But I'm attracted to the green,
to the glitter of the deathly dirt,
calling me unfairly close--
"just look at me."
Like the sharp blades of grass
looking for a whistle,
grip a piece and pull--
I'll slice your palm passively.

I yearn so much,
I cannot stop from pressing a finger
into my bruises to make them stay put.

Love poems are stupid,
Because in only a few months time
They’re likely falling to pieces;
Out of juice, out of line.

However, I’ll still write in my spare time,
But would rather focus on cacti,
Because no one gives them
Their time to shine.

I love you, sweet cactus
How you love when the sun shines,
I love you, sweet cactus
Your agave so devine.

I’d rather write about a cactus
All prickly up it’s spine,
Because that cactus is alive,
That cactus is mine,
That cactus will last
Longer than you and I.

I remember we used to play Kick the Cactus until we realized...
                
                  *****, this hurts