Sometimes my man buys plants.
He follows the instructions on the tab,
And sets it somewhere sunny
in his attic apartment.
For a week, he is diligent;
sees how hardy his new friend is.
and admires its beauty.
Then he watches it die.
Try as he might, after a short while,
he doesn't always remember
to water it on time,
to give it some love,
and so then it shrivels up.
Dead.
Upon seeing it, my man is mortified.
But for some strange reason,
he never tosses it out.
He keeps it sitting on top of where ever.
Dead.
For many more weeks.
I don't remind him,
how sad it is to see it.
Out of fear he'd get a new one,
and love it dead all over again.
The other day, my man
gave me a kiss
and called me a beautiful flower.
I am grateful
these legs aren't roots.

i'm terrified that if i write these thoughts down,
i'll feel emptier than i do right now.
but here i am, tapping away,
wondering if i should ditch work today.
went to the chiropractor for no good reason-
told him to 86 the neck adjustment.
last i did it, my head felt light. but i read somewhere that it might lead to stroke.
avoiding death, now that's a joke.
if i could just snap my spine, it could be alright.
but a gradual fade isn't much of a change
from right now.
so I buckle down,
i don't need any pity
and hospital wards give me the heebie jeebies.
i don't live a sad life, i shouldn't feel ******.
but the hormones that rage and gave me these *******,
could be why
it could be tonight.
too tired to live,
too wired to die.

Husks of chopped evergreen
discarded by the sidewalk
tied to trash,
weeping pine needles
only hope to be compost.
Deflated decoration litter the lawns,
red and green strewn about
lights flickered and burnt out.
Expired eggnog, chicken bones,
crumpled wrapping paper,
empty boxes, metal reindeer,
tinsel and broken candy canes.
Dead christ is still in the holiday,
while we spoke about the night before
we forget we can see him
the morning after.

Those hipster blogs never held your attention,
always more interested in what your idols had to say.
It was still nice when they received some recognition.
Every musician who played the lady well, deserved some shine.
But you are just a casual, and no way could you pick up an instrument.
You say you don't know her too well.
Did you ever scour the web for what is considered the newest indie hit just to learn her better,
were you The American Listener?
You couldn't be.
Critics rarely suited your taste.
You knew what you liked in her,
you didn't need affirmation.
Applying what little you've retained from the musicians you knew,
and the thousands of intricate melodies you've managed to scratch the surface with.
But still, you don't know her.
You don't know her but you love her don't you?
You put a note on your fourth finger without knowing who she was, didn't you?
She made you wanna ***** dance when no one was looking
And sometimes when someone was.
She made you feel like you could sleep again.
She made you feel like whatever you were doing wasn't too bad after all.
You skipped seeing her when you were feeling down,
you are emotional
And didn't need her sad voice to wallow,
you sang it to yourself and forgot
she was living inside you anyway.

I try to spend my time outside of myself
asking questions, learning lives,
anything that suppresses the memories.
The nagging voice reminding me.
It's not as safe as the world I live in.
But I'm aware that my mind
is expansive like Earth,
cluttered in some spots,
empty in others,
peaceful in the woods,
with battlecries in the cities.
Often misinterpreted-
full of the ocean and different versions
of everyone I know.
When the demons crawl up the ropes
I let them live in doodles
like ancient scrolls.
I send their resilience
to my dr. scholl's.
I try to think of the zen garden
behind where I work,
and that each concern
each worry
each blessing
are pebbles amongst captive nature.
And I am a bonsai thriving in it.
It just feels better to smile about that.

if i trust you

if i trust you

if i trust you

you could take it all away again.
too scared to show you
my heart is bored with the same old sadness
don't want to you to rip me
a new one.
don't need to feel as real
as i feel every single day
i think of what happened.