You've planted daisies
Inside of my heart
And now they're starting to grow.

It's been awhile since plants
grew here.
It's been a garden
full of those potted
plants that you buy
at the supermarket or Home Depot
that you think you'll take care of
but they die soon after.

Gardens are only for those
with green thumbs.
My thumbs are red
from plowing and tilling the soil in my veins
in hopes that maybe
A good planter will come along
and plant the right flowers.

Daisies are starting to grow on me
and I think they're here to stay.

He asked me
my favorite flower
and I said I don’t have one
because I didn’t want him
to buy me flowers.

Not just him,
I don’t want anyone
to buy me flowers.

I want someone
to plant flowers
within me,
water them,
stay to watch
them grow
outside of me
and never die.

Yet, he’ll never get it.
That’s probably why
he bought me flowers
that I watched die
sitting on my desk.
And I didn’t even
press the petals.

You were beautiful
With music flowing through
Your veins and slipping out
Of your fingertips.
You charmed the sun and the moon
With your songs and
The universe fell for you.
I did too but I
Have no hope.
Why would you choose a
Daisy in a field of roses?

Summer is my
Favorite thing because
It has sunlight and
Strawberries and
Daisies too.
But the best thing of all
Is that summer
Has you.

awoken by a hazy and golden sunrise
i stumbled
from the dewy tangled grass,
head pounding -
almost as hard as the day you left me
i found myself in the field of daisies,
(the same kind of flowers that lay withered for weeks
on my bedside table)
the fragrance pierced my consciousness and before i knew it
we were sitting on that park bench under the moon light
with tiny wild daisies in your one hand -
your other on my thigh
we never would have guessed
that i'd be half drunk a year later
on your memories in a field of ******* daisies

Tonight you're sitting amongst my thoughts as a Daisy
But first, you have yet to be plucked from the field
The field of an unspoken language
But let this moment last, as if tomorrow is the day you will be plucked
And the day you will be plucked it will be the cause of my hand
But as of right now, let the wind take you where you need to go
Sweet Daisy

that night, under the dark midnight sky
I weaved daisies into your hair
and pinned dandelions to the collar of your shirt
left lipstick trails like stars along your jaw
and goose bumps trailing behind my fingertips

and I came home at three a.m
wearing your soft grey jacket
and traces of your cologne on my skin
sleep willingly lost
and innocence willingly traded
for just a taste
of what love truly is

What you don't see
is the way I wait,
watching her braid
worries in her hair
speckling small daisies,
my eyes like tumblers
gulping her in swigs
as she perches glasses
on the arch of her nose,
and then we'll take
a photo
to remark on how
we were back then
and now.

I never used to cry this hard, not even when he was pronounced dead.
They pronounce you dead because that becomes your new name; you are nothing but a carcass that needs to be dealt with before it rots.
Sometimes I see him, with a daisy tucked behind one ear and a pen behind the other.
Bare-footed, of course.
He always told me how important it is to know as well as to feel where you are going.
Death is more than an acquaintance to me, we've met on many terms.
The first time I encountered death was when she carried a part of me there in her *****.
I never left and I don't think I ever will.
You broke the dam behind my eyes (you made me feel like I never thought I could) and I don't have enough materials to patch it up.
I'm desperately trying to fix myself but I can't; you're holding of my resources in your arms instead of holding me.
Please put your lips on mine before I drown us both.