every rose has its thorn
and i was just the one in your side.

the amount of genuine joy i may have given,
is overshadowed by the pain i caused.

there was always a maybe and im sorry i didnt act on it
when it felt the strongest
but i promise:

no matter how wilted you become,
you are still important as you were when you were flourishing.

i've said this over and over
but im sorry.

i really am sorry.

wilting bouquets
                               at a gravestone

we are keen to point out the
spinach
               in your teeth
flashing our own in mockey

there are graveyards in our closets
unmarked tombstones rattling
under each breath

& still we find humor in
your lack
grow vines of resentment at
your affluence

we were once all planted
in the same soil

not our fault yours
                                  had shade
not our fault yours
                                  wasn't watered
we shout as we

                                   s     t    o    m    p

on your leaves and pluck petals
                                  off your stems

and yet you
bloom
through the cracks of pavement
your florets blossom
amidst sand

not our problem
we whimper from our manicured lawns

a dog ****** on me today.

i am a flower.

i will grow in the sunlight
and bloom under the moon.

i will be plucked by fingers
too greedy to nourish me after.

but i am a flower
and i refuse to wilt in your vase.

so much love to give,
not much will to live.
i must be stupid, i think.
people pass by in a blink
only stopping when i share,
not for the fact that they care.
its all about them
and their needs,
its all about them
and my deeds.

so much love to give,
not much will to forgive.
i must be forgiving, i think.
i have to be empathic, or sink
down the drain to be forgotten
or left behind to become rotten.
its all about them
and what they need,
its all about them,
nevermind that you plead.

so much love to give,
not much will to outlive.
i have to outgrow childish whims,
either that or be out on a limb.
i have to move on, they say
but why should i, i cry.
it’s all about them
and what they feel,
it’s all about them,
you just have to deal.

so much love to give,
however will i leave?
i want to grow feathered wings,
i want to cut off their puppet strings.
i want to be able to breathe again
without feeling like i have little to gain.
it’s all about them
when it should be about me,
it’s all about them
but I want to be free.

so much love to give,
but **** if I’d ever learn to believe
that i am worth so much more;
that i should leave sadness at the door;
that i am fully adored
by the people swimming by the shore.

the shore is filled with people who
don’t take until there’s nothing left, who'd
keep you at your very best, who
are your very own life vest, who’d
never make you choose,
even when you have nothing left to lose.

you have so much love to give,
don't let yourself wilt away like this.

An open door
Green of day steeps into a grassy aroma
A familial air whizzing through shared city streets

The papers greet a house down the block and
I can't help but wonder if the news
Has reached them yet:

--The earth is wilting and
It will rain today--

I board the 91
Coffee buzzing in my lungs

--The house we've built is wilting and
Wigged men are lining us up--

A workingwoman sits behind me
A toddler bumbling about her lap
She looks past me, but I answer anyway:

"The people are wilting and
Time is sitting still"

--
c

She was a wilting flower,
Delicately fading
Into the depth of her sorrow.

Her eyes-pooled gossamer stars
Falling from constellation webs.
Bouncing on the tile before losing shape
In the atmosphere.

My soul was swallowed into
Her sorrow,
And stayed there.

And when I held her,
It was like trying to hold on to refracting light.