i often wonder where i’ll go
or be, or stand, or bike, or row
the only thing i need to know
is where i’ll be
when the flowers grow.

Dying petals adorn the sidewalk
They're varying pigments document life's varying stages of leaving,
Thwarts drafts of wind, their nature
to revel in my gaze
Not in act of personification,
They are not the object of attraction
No,
But a messenger to the careful stepper,
“Look up.”

And just like how
wisteria bloom and flourish
in the unbeknownst shadows of spring,
your once befooled heart
shall also find it's way.

keep changing then
keep scooping out your innards
filling it with unrecognizable stuffing
smoothing it over for the girl in the mirror
keep carving out pieces of your skin
let them fall
let me gather them then
frantically sewing them together
just so that i have something left to remember you by
just so that i’m not grieving someone who doesn’t exist
keep altering the person i loved with all the tenderness i could muster
and with all the passion, i suffered.
keep fixing so that you can stand to look in the mirror.
maybe this anger and resentment is only masking the grief left behind in pockets and holes i pretend aren’t there

your old name on the bottom of my foot
and etched into fruit peels.
pretending that i wasn’t like a rag doll for you
pretending i was perfect so that the guilt doesn't eat away at me.
you’d even change your name
to resemble what isn’t.
what always was,
but was unfamiliar to me.
keep smoothing your skin over, dear lover
just please
let me know when you leave your old junk by the curb
so i can swing by and look it over
your skin rolled up like a battered rug
your veins as dried flowers tied with twine
some old bones as rickety furniture
brains for mildewed blankets
your heart as the pillow i lay my head on
the tear stains still noticeable after all this time
i'd softly kiss them off you had i been there.
i wasn’t.
so,
i'll watch you strip pieces so you can walk taller and prouder.
collecting your shaved and crumpled bits, in a weaved basket

flower picking.

no longer grieving, only accepting.

There was an old legendary myth about a Dear Little Sprout
One who watches over mortals since The Creation up until throughout
Lurking from within numerous gardens as we all turnabout
Protecting those he deems good despite most mortals having such doubt

Dear Little Sprout can tell who's good and evil
Even acknowledging those who he deems neutral
Guiding Good and Punishing Evil as individuals
Giving advice for Neutral and hearing out their personal visual

Little did they know that the Dear Little Sprout has a big secret
One that he considers as the most deepest
That being he's more than just a symbolic fairy tale
But rather he's a Young Nature God with a hopeful prevail

He took the form a green-haired teenage boy
Surrounded by various flowers that's filled with so much joy
Roses, Daisies, Sunflowers, and many more he enjoys
The Dear Little Sprout, Herb, is always seen with such adorable poise

Sweet Little Herb shall spread happiness and love
For the sake of guiding and protecting everyone like a kind dove
Holding the Light of Creation in the form of the flower
With his love from those he's close to fills him with passionate power

Together we bring love like the roses in the garden
As we shine on similar to the daisies that was pardoned
We shall be as strong as the sunflowers from the proverb
The Dear Little Sprout, Our Sweet Little Herb

all the flowers bloom in spring
all the flowers bend with the wind

there’s so much beauty in those fragile things
they are living proof that being sensitive can be
all you need to feel the wholeness of your being

I buy myself flowers
and put them in a vase
I keep them close to me
as a reminder
of how soft
I can be

The flowers blossom along
Like trees in a forest bearing fruit
Like palm trees that growing coconut
And the fish multiply along with itself
Lastly, the creation God has made

Sweeter, to adjust to a shadow
Fruition, in no way a sudden future
Survival to alacrity, glad to owe...
Where we are, a have to predict purity...

Same sense, same scent...?
Adrenaline fueled
A reason to foretell meant
With the ides of composure, silence due?

Mutual poise
Purpose ought, a halt
To obscurity, a wiser choice
Has said hello, for a salt...

Common, certain problems...
Just to save curiosity the trouble
Succinct energy's, sated by a whim
Share a decency, like it was ours, wonder

Shadows of change
Told to accrue accept, like another friend
Spare time, for the total of strange...
No matter how well done, we know life for its ends...

For the guests there are

flowers, and hidden in them:


fleas waiting to strike.