It’s strange how a book can recall memories
Memories I try to forget and yet
I go searching for the pain to relive them
Not relieve them like a normal person should
I feel drawn to re LIVE the pain
And when I cry
And my warm tears
I feel running down my face
I think it’s like an acknowledgement
I think it makes my pain real
And as the water pools and trickles from my eyes
It feels real
And not just a numb memory
I had forced it to be

Dark, gloomy, quiet
Loud ringing piercing the ears
But only a dream.

I inhale you, knowing I can die the next day
but the relief you give, makes my today

What kinda flowers would you like to have?
besides my own tulips, I have
I honestly don't know much about the garden or the seeds
I know not every day is greeted by dandy lions
Or as fertilized in the fruits of its daily labor
No one owes your favor
We're all petal pushers
Waiting to blossom from the buzzin'
Not everyone has the will to stem tall
Some may wilt away; Some may brighten the day
But, I just want to floret
And never look back
Dancing on the breeze like a leaf
Forgetting the roots
What a relief

Gifts from my mother
Were paper cuts from packages
That twinged and throbbed.
Beautiful bows in colorful patterns created a corset to not be removed.
Ribbons formed webs inside my chest.
They trap guilt, dread, and shame.
Now you give me a band-aid, scissors, and kisses.
And I know I'm enough.