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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!
My Pothos plants seem to grow in every season, in every room, and in every condition. They always bounce back - through moving homes, vacations, overwatering, under watering, and everything in between. I admire them for that.
Hope this finds you well—
(Letter addressed to Heaven)
Angel gets her mail!
A sweet little haiku :)
evangeline Apr 4
Wisteria blooms
Spring faeries come out at dusk
Keep the porch light on
Archer Feb 14
Boy was he oblivious.
Sure, I was dense,
but at least I could admit it.
I could also admit that
I was a little hurt
each time he
seemingly
chose to ignore my pokes and prods.
I get to listen to him go on and on about this one girl-
who I don’t even care that much about-
and he gets to go on and on about her.

Obviously, I’ve got to be there for him.
Everyone should be there for the ones they love. But ****,
does it hurt when the ones you love
jab
at the heart that throbs for them.

I refused to let the ride home be silent.

Did you want some ice cream or something to make you feel better?

A groan of a reply.

I didn’t bother to give him a glance.
I squeezed the steering wheel and kept my eyes glued to the road,
though I’d rather they be glued to him.

You should come over,
I spoke, though it was almost
drowned out by the whiny screech of my brakes.
I took the opportunity to look at him.
He did not meet my eyes.
Instead, his arms were over his chest and he stared at the window at some old car wash
on the right side of my Toyota.
I think you could benefit from a break 
thinking

about that girl.

I don’t know, man,
a sentence at last.
I have homework probably.

The car ****** forward as the light turned green, breaking my companion’s eye contact with
the gas station extension.
My eyes lingered on him for a moment before
I scratched the back of my neck.

C’mon, it’s Friday,
I urged.
You deserve a chance to take your mind off
that girl.

He threw his arms out.
She’s not just some girl!
She’s an absolute beauty who
barely knows I exist! Like I said,
angel fish,
he gestured to the air to the right of him,
Sea urchin,
the same hand now met his chest on the “sea”.

I,
I shook my head.
I think you give that
b#tch
too much credit, you know?
She called you slurs…
I brought the car to a cruising speed when I noticed we were alone on the road.
And, ‘cause, y’know. I think sea urchins are pretty f#cking awesome.
I snuck a glance at him.
He was staring at his lap;
his brows were knitted and his eyes looked as if they would fall out of the sockets.
…I think I’m a sea urchin as well.

He snorted and sat up straight to look at me. “Really?
He smiled,
dimples showing.
Good.
You can’t be a sea urchin too;
you’re too perfect to be one.
His head of brown hair shook and
one of his matching brows raised.

Perfect?
I grinned.
This guy?
I brought a hand off the steering wheel and ****** a thumb towards my chest.
I was a careful enough driver to
still be focused on the road.
At first glance you might think I’m some sort of reckless delinquent
who only cares about
getting girls and
getting drunk.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Well, maybe not perfect,
he smiled towards me, rolling his eyes.
I let my gaze meet his before snapping back to the street.
But definitely perfect enough..

So,
I mumbled and scratched the back of my neck,
Ice cream?
Malia Nov 2024
In my bones, I am a poet
And every word I trail shows it
Like a fingerprint to trace
Conjures an image of my face.

Any essays, I might write
With golden flourish, thrilling heights
With wide crescendos, rumbling frisson
Soft like silk and smooth like ribbon.

So when my teacher does request
A lab report or written test
I may bring tears to their eyes—
Still, I did not get it right.
Lacey Clark Nov 2023
you’re a deep canyon.
and I sit perched on the plane’s wing -
goggles on, sipping tea.

from up here,
you're a thin black outline,
a giggle and a wonder.
<3
Lacey Clark Jan 2020
It's like finding a necklace in the dryer,
all knotted and twisted.
I keep trying to straighten it out,
writing about the same old stuff.

Maybe I'm not really fixing anything,
just fiddling with the knots.
Moving them around,
maybe I'm making progress.

Maybe it's better to laugh,
Set the dang-knotted things aside,
and to have a lighthearted dialogue
with your shadows.
Lacey Clark Feb 2020
love is
the friendly atlantic ocean
a lotion that never fully rubs in
humid air

love permeates
like a leaky roof
honey on toast
dandelions
Michael Oct 2022
I want Lemonade.  Fresh squeezed Lemonade.
I don't want Minute Maid!
I only want real Lemonade!
Oh sweet Lemonade, I'll sit right here and serenade!
And sing songs all day of Lemonade.
Only songs of Lemonade!
And one day I might even trade
this song for fresh squeezed Lemonade.
There'll even be a big parade,
for the ice cold drink I always crave!
The sour sweet kick in the cooling shade.
I only want real Lemonade.
I don't want soda.  I don't want tea.
I only want my very own grown up tall lemon tree.
Ah sweet fresh squeezed Lemonade.  Pucker up!
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