I wish I could say something beautiful.
But all of the words I dance with keep stepping on my toes,
like the boy I danced with in 8th grade that told me
he was surprised by how graceful I was for my size.

I've always carried other people's grief and anger around in my extra pounds,
storing their feelings like I was preparing for winter
and I've never been graceful about it.

I fall and I stumble and I slip but at least I didn't step on Brandon's feet when I was so nervous about my first kiss following the Sadie Hawkins dance.

I wish I could say something beautiful,
but all of the metaphors I try to grow never bloom.
Because I overwater them the way I overwater all of the loved ones in my garden and all of the wildflowers in my lungs.

I've been told my thumb is black, and not green, because I never know when to stop piling fertilizer upon seeds that will never sprout,
and when to stop piling unreciprocated love upon the people that I care about.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But my voice is always silent like lightning or booming like thunder
and I've never learned how to make it fill a room like the sound of rain,
without being a natural disaster.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But I still have a hard time looking into a mirror without picking myself apart,
like diagramming myself for autopsy before I've ever even pulled the trigger.

How could I ever produce something beautiful, when I can't understand the work of art that I am?

How could I say something beautiful, when I stand in my hallowed exhibition hall and refuse to paint my walls because I'm so afraid of making mistakes?

How could I say something beautiful, when I'm afraid to frame my best qualities because what if other people think that they're overrated? Overrated like seeing the Mona Lisa in person and still not understanding what the **** she's smiling about.

How could I say something beautiful when I've never been able to appreciate the different hues and shadows and brush strokes that fill my skin and my mind and my mouth?
I've never been able to appraise and value myself because I'm afraid I'll never sell and never find a home.

How could I say or create or become something beautiful when I'm so preoccupied with imitating others' paintings instead of allowing myself to be my own masterpiece?

I wish I could say something beautiful, but maybe the most beautiful thing I could say in this moment is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

and kid you gotta be beholden to yourself instead of those critics in your art gallery.

Three years ago
I was given
my first cactus plant
I named her Esperanza

Today I threw her away
in the kitchen trashcan –
the things we love don’t always get a funeral
when they rot
when we overwater, over love
          accidentally

I keep her red ***
on the windowsill
          empty
the garbage and walk it to the street
thinking of her green thorny throat
turning yellow and soft
when I still thought
exposure to the sun would heal her

Through a window I see
a dim living room, brown couch, teal walls
I imagine it is our couch
we must be doing dishes
after dinner – your hands
on my waist, I always forget
to take my rings off
until I have already started
scrubbing the plates

I take away your hands
leave on the rings
let the plates air dry

Let Esperanza grow
black spots and mold
and worry only about
the next plant
her red *** will hold

Tears are water to the soul,
and yet I seem to overwater it.
I must have misread the info booklet
on how to keep it thriving,
and instead burnt it along
with the pictures of us.

The water keeps rising and I keep dying
I'm clawing to the surface , the chains at my feet keep me from leaving
The air is gone and darkness takes me
I open my eyes and see I'm above ground
but I'm still drowning

It’s like wanting to nap
I just want to sleep, toss here the gauzy blanket and charcoal pillows
I’d be so much happier knowing my chairs will be empty
My fingertips are always cold now
So many books I’ll never get to read them all
I don’t want to hug my stuffed animals
I overwater my plants
It’s like seeing you standing on the distant shore, if you could only see how peaceful it is here you could possibly understand
If you could hear me over the crash of idle waves
But we are ships set for different courses
Follow your rose to somewhere warm with burnt sands
Someone else wants me for his bride
And it’s not an offer I can ever decline
Tschuss, meine Liebe. Gute Nacht, Herzchen.

You cannot overwater
A plant because you missed a day
And expect it to grow
The same way

many repeat bloom
mistake to overwater
anthurium plant

when you water it.
where you water me.
don’t overwater, please.
i’m already rotting.