you tended to parasites,
thinking they were blossoms.

you expected them
to grow around
and into
the person
i used to be.

you expected something beautiful.

but now,
vines are constricting me,
growing around me,
curling inside me.

insects are scuttling on me,
through me,
they are a part of me.

i am made up
of parasites,
of weeds,
and wilted flowers.

everything good in me
has been devoured by
everything bad you've cultivated.  

(i reach out to you,
hoping you will feed me
with praises,
with smiles,
with gentle intentions.)

but you water me
with hurtful words,
disappointed gazes,
and angry actions.

you expect
a paradise
in me,

and you are disappointed
when you see a barren wasteland
in the person
i was supposed to be.

and i am disappointed
because i cannot grow
the way you want me to
with the way
you nurture me.

And when there’s nothing
left to write about,
I look towards the leaves,
noticing how they let go
with the knowledge that
a season of growth
will arrive again soon.
I revisit the songs
that remind me what it
feels like to be free,
and embrace this warm
feeling that resides
deep in my chest
when thinking about
the people who love me.

And all at once,
ink is spilling out
the mouth of my pen.

-k.p