Oh— to be a Pothos vine
Crawling towards the light
Always takes her precious time
Makes every room so bright!
Oh— to be a golden green
With marbled fronds so lush
She, the thriving Houseplant Queen
Makes other flora blush!
But, lo— beneath her heavenly form
Her truest magic resides
For through the winter and the storm
She’s balanced as the tides
Oh— to have that perfect Pothos Power
Flourishing through the night
Oh— to grow and never to cower
No matter how daunting the fight
For it’s her courage that we envy,
Her fortitude that we fear
Her resilient leafy frenzy
That will suddenly appear
Even when you think she’s dead and gone
The stars will still align
A tiny sprout will bloom at dawn  
The mighty Pothos vine!

Houseplant,
why are you depressed?
Most people- er, plants-
don't get Seasonal Affective Disorder
in Spring.
Houseplant,
I've watched your tumultuous stretch
and subsequent shrink
but I don't think
you truly want to decay.
I've watched teardrops roll
from your heavy leaves,
depositing life to the tile floor
in the part of the kitchen
best suited for afternoon light.
I'm begging you,
Houseplant,
there aren't many religions that
give an afterlife to plants.
This is your best shot, houseplant.
I promise I won't let the cat
push you off the counter again,
not like last time when the soil
spread out on the floor,
a puddle of
rock right there,
with earthworms that chewed through it all
and seeds that rooted in the
somewhat blobbish flower tiles
my ex-boyfriend insisted on.
Really, houseplant,
I'm the one with the pink slip,
and I can't survive on
light, you know,
not like you,
and I need more than rain
to stay rooted.
You don't need a roof over you,
Houseplant,
in fact,
you just need the earth,
I need a lot more than you,
Houseplant,
but if you can't keep it together,

how can I?