Maybe if you hold me closer,
Tighter than you've ever held,
You could hold in all my fears
And all the bad words I’ve yelled.
You could keep together my pieces
And make me feel whole again
But we both know you’re not glue
And you can’t close the cracks in my skin.
You wouldn’t be a permanent solution
But I could at least feel complete
If you could lay me like concrete.
Maybe I’ll last longer and be functioning
Knowing one day a crack will break me apart.
I just hope by then I’ll learn to let the earth beat its heart
And I’ll have flowers growing from my faults in spring.
You know I love the weeds,
So I hope I become a home to the grass and flowers we don’t let grow.
I’ll be the ground that feeds
And I’ll be the land you can’t mow.
I won’t move and I’ll let my shattered pieces breathe new
Because you may have helped me not feel broken but maybe being broken is what I was meant to do.

Cut out the toxic
Liars, cheats, backstabbers, thieves
Then, you'll breathe and grow

Then you will realize
That you can rise to the sky
And shine in glory

You'll have healthy roots
Tend to yourself carefully
Love, hone and perfect

Belief is your soil
Water yourself with passion
As well as sunlight

Remember this though
No one can grow without help
You have many roots

You will rise and fall
The seasons will turn on you
Never surrender

Even as a seed
Though small, your potential grows
And you will flower

The potted plants on the deck are all dead,
and you are not sure which slip-up to blame:
Ignorance of botany or neglect. 
One *** contained a plant you did not know.
You were not surprised when the orchid died; 
but how did the pine tree drop to dust? 
Now there, you have three pots of dead plant dirt:
crumpled leaves, wilted stems, and dried debris–
of living things conceived, grown, and scattered.
 
You failed
but you can dare 
this dirt 
to start again.

In the garden out the back
Is where I've been cleaning
Out all my daemons
Even though they might relapse
It finds the anecdote
To illustrate the reason

In the garden out the back
Where I grow my wise decisions
Abundance growing to the brim
With all that medicine therein
You'll find the crystal mind

Nel giardino dietro a cà
Dove non c'è niente
Che può preoccuparmi
Io trovai felicità
Facendo cose che sono
Poco educate

Nel giardino dietro a cà
Come sana decisione
Lasciai perdere eredità
Quel che ci lascia sparirà
Qui cresce libertà

In the garden out the back
Is where I've been breathing
All my good intention
If there's something that you lack
You'll find it growing
In the fascets of redemption

In the garden out the back
You will feel no inhibitions
They are not needed anymore
Our remedy grows out the floor
Reveal this truth to find
Abundance growing to the brim
With all the medicine therein
You'll find the crystal mind

people say
I should be
grateful,
because I don't
have to move
all the time.

but to float
place to place,
too quick
to take root,
is better than
the strength
required to
rip out years
and years of
deep roots of
love and
dependency
that have
reached through
cold earth
to draw from
the waters of
love and
companionship

they attempted to
transplant me,
but my roots
are withered and
I can't find it
inside me to bloom.

I have sought many of the past lives,
Witnessed ages of the Earth’s passerby;
From when I was a little sapling,
Until vines and twigs turned wrinkling-
I am a linden tree and this is the story,
I’d tell in the form of poetry.

Many and many a year ago,
When mountains ceaselessly echo
And the birds chirped harmoniously,
Zephyr mutters silence and serenity;
Clouds clover sky in gleaming azure,
Meadow teeming with verdant grandeur.

The sound of the raging sea wave
Reverberates through the mighty cave;
Sun-kissed sand wallow all day,
Pristine and bright as the sun’s ray;
In the boggy soil I stand firm,
Watching the pendulous vine squirm.

Butterflies fluttering in great splendor,
Hovering and sipping nectars galore;
Screeching seagulls can be heard-
From a distant they form herd;
A group of mackerel rapidly swim,
Dwelling into the never-ending stream.

Those were the days when green
is all there is to be seen;
Before the rise of the civilization,
When humans value appreciation.

Blazing red lights swallowed,
Then ashes and dust followed;
Streams and riverbanks silently cry,
As fishes and clams gradually die;
Birds started singing in sorrow-
The broken melody of tomorrow.

This is the story that I’d be telling-
To my children and their sapling;
I am a linden tree, blessed and forsaken,
Whose memories and land they’ve taken.

there is a plant in my room that,
with no rhyme or reason,
withers and droops and snaps
whatever the season.
at times when there is plenty of sun
streaming through,
enough for its buds to open
and leaves to unfurl
they remain closed tight
against the light
i do too.

there is a plant in my room that,
when oxygen is inhaled and
carbon dioxide absorbed,
it picks up its branches and tries
to let the warmth reach its skin,
to bring back its colour and bloom a little.
but the light does not warm any deeper
than a layer or two
and when the exchange is over and left
it droops again
i try too.

there is a plant in my room that
can sometimes forget its water
and its dirt that keeps it grounded.
though it knows that
its roots will shrivel,
and its petals will fall,
that the watering can will gather dust
and its tray will fill up stagnant
till the sheer weight of negligence
can tip over its *** and scatter its soil
i forget too.

there is a plant in my room that
knows one day the sun will stop streaming
and warmth won’t reach.
that no buds nor leaves will remain to hold tight.
that gaseous exchanges cease.
that layers will shed and bare branches.
that roots will disintegrate,
and that water will evaporate.
it knows one day it won’t find its way back
after tipping over one last time.
that its soil will find other
weeds to keep alive
and it will decompose.
and i will too,
for there is a plant in my room that
dies when i do