the trees
the flowers
the breeze
they think about you the least

she dreams about boys
but wakes up with none

you taught me how to fall in love
but you didn't teach me how to stop

have you ever cried so much you've heard the trees swaying as if they were your only friends

the first death i ever saw up close
was the death of my grandpa
and i still remember standing there
memories of him recollecting
and all i could hear was my heart pumping
my heart was pumping
my thoughts like a dynamite
my heart was clearly pumping
but his wasn't anymore

my mother carries a two sided heart
sometimes i hate her so much
because all she looks at is my sister
and sometimes i hate her so much
because her words hurt like heavy rain
and sometimes i hate her so much
because she does not seem to care
but as i start to think more
perhaps it's not hate my heart is filled with
but love and jealously
instead

my father
certainly isn't the best cooks
in fact, he's one of the worst
but when he does cook i sometimes do
try to pass by the kitchen door occasionally
because i love that look of him all greased with sweat and oil
it makes everything feel so real
it makes me feel like my father isn't just someone who wears suit and tie
fills cheques and comes home with pride
it makes me feel like my father is there, vulnerable and honest

my mother
is a woman with her thoughts all wound up
a mouth that always
speaks for herself and for others
and sometimes i hate the way she speaks because she speaks too much
and hate is such a strong word
but her words are just as strong
so strong that i fear one day
i might not hear those words again
because her daughter, like her,
has a mind like hers
with all her thoughts wound up
but unlike her
hasn't quite mastered the art of speech

and perhaps
her daughter's art of speech
is not being able to say her i love you's
but she tries, she tries everyday