I
am the crumpled up
rough draft girl
in the wastepaper basket
corner of my mind

she is the file
I deleted
after too many red lines
changed her meaning

this is not my final draft
I will throw myself away
again soon

I am three
and the grass beneath my feet
is young too
there is wind
and a bird song
and I am happy

Let me tell you about love
It’s not kissing and missing
No letters on parchment
And valentines gifts
It’s curled up beneath the stars
With your closest friends
Making wishes and resolutions
And telling secrets to carry always
You cannot break this love
It is a memory, a moment
Friendship
It is the greatest love of all

I am 3.5 steps behind you
You always said you had nine lives
Dear Sylvia, I wish you had stayed
For just one

Dear Sylvia, of all the ways to choose
You create poets who find no art in baking
Though I suppose our ovens
Are viewed a bit differently now

The brownies come out burnt
I write a poem about the time I
Thought about killing myself
but got distracted
reading Sylvia Plath

It’s kinda crazy
How you talk like maple syrup
And think like a long winter
Your words bite
Like stinging sleet

I find cuddling by the fire
With a cup of coco
And blankets piled high
So soothing

But shouldn’t I be worried
About the storm raging outside?

I'm treading on
shoe soles of glass
one wrong move
I bust my ***.
they say I'm pretty
but what's that mean?
when pain is beauty,
you **** the queen.

I pick up
The broken pieces
And do my best to fit them back
Where they used to go.
They seem
So ready
To fall out again.
I glance at my reflection
Wondering why
I don’t recognize myself.
Maybe it’s not
The mirror
That’s broken.

I am not alone
My father stands beside me with a shield
His army stands behind

This is how it has been
This
Is how it shall be

I am not fearless
But I have none to fear

My father pursues those
Who come
In pursuit of me

So I will not fear
For who can stand
Against the Almighty?

I always wondered
If something I never had
Could hurt me

But then I held my breath
And my lungs screamed for the air
They didn’t have

turn the phone on silent
get the angle right
send the message, take a breath
you'll lose yourself tonight

caught up in your nightmare
no dignity to find
so bite your tongue and move along
too late to hit rewind

i never meant to start this
the one thing i regret
but you text me and i don't leave
i wish i could forget

My garden was always
More lethal than pretty.
Thorns, not roses
Berries too deadly to eat.
Surrounding me.
Surrounding my house,
And heart.
Letting in none.
My own blockade.

Then you came.
You plowed through
The tall thorns, throwing
kisses and sweet words.
You planted beds of tulips
Where thorns had once been.
The berries?
They've rotted,
The sweet lullabies and promises
Too much to handle.
In their place grows wildflowers,
A meadow, calling my name.

My garden was then,
More pretty than lethal.
Where thorns had thrived,
Blooms took over.
Where stone once sat,
Trees had grown.
A garden.
Filled, yet empty.
No longer my own
Blockade.

But weeds
Silently take over the flowers.
Lies drown the wildflower meadow,
which once grew freely in my heart.
A blockade begins, thorns thriving once again.
And then you leave.

My garden was always
More lethal than pretty.
Thorns, not roses
Berries too deadly to eat.
Surrounding me.
Surrounding my house,
And heart.
Letting in only you.

Now my blockade
Of thorns without roses,
Waits.
Waits to be
More pretty than lethal.
••• ••• ••• •••
-T.C., Broken Blooms

Silence
The anguished aching
deep
Inside my soul

Rest
The breaking blows
Hiding
Within my heart

Cease
The rolling thunder
Echoing
Throughout my brain

Leave
My heavy heart
And
Let me be.

Reach down and wrap me in celestial bodies
I imagine the warmth of stars,
Standing under a blanket of constellations
Fireflies dance on my fingertips
As if stellar incarnate
This interstellar silence surrounds me
And for the first time in a while
The universe is okay

I know you think
I’m counting down the days
But I’m just trying to make
The days count.

People tell me
45 is so young,
Why would I want to believe
I’ll be gone by then?

I say
It has taken me 18 years
To get where I am.

I’m afraid
Of what will happen
After 18 more.