Love deflowered, crushed,
Pelting rains exhausted skies,
  .  .  .  Weight of salted tears.

The vase broke when they said
You left.

i feel like a queen in a king sized bed. the edge of my quilt is the edge of my terrain, and i
i believe the world is just too big for me

on another note, the sadness is back. it feels like this:
-December
-overwatered flowers
-flash freeze
-snowed-over sand
-abandoned parks
-carpet carpet carpet burn
-corset laced tighter than my own ribs
-nine years old bedazzling my eyelids even though it hurts
-becoming a frost flower and
-New Orleans 2005, because that's what waking up from nightmares is like:

clammy palms
empty lungs
hurricane blown but you still wake up utterly alone in a king sized bed that you don't really fill up

on our first date,
we planted a seed.
everytime we talked about how much i liked you,
i watered it.
everytime we talked about how much you liked me,
you gave it your sunshine.
you were always so happy--
you were glowing and gave light to anyone who needed it. i miss that.
everytime we were together we made sure that the soil was fresh enough.
it wasn't that often but it was still enough.
a few times i was at our plant and i guess you were too. i would start checking to make sure we, i mean the plant, were okay and you came over but really only to look.
by the end of it i was the only one that got my hands ***** and i was okay with that because i know we, i mean it, became a hassle.
you kept looking and looking. i didn't mind-- didn't think much of it really. but then one day my phone rang and i looked out my window and saw us, i mean the tree, i mean our tree, and i saw you there with an axe. i knew it couldn't be good. you chopped our relationship right off, i mean that plant. i tried running out and watering it with my tears but i think i just overwatered it. it didn't help there wasn't anymore happiness in our relationship, i mean sunshine for it.

sometimes i'll think about how we, i mean how it, used to grow so well. but it was our, i mean its, time to go… i guess.

now what used to be a beautiful relationship, i mean tree, is six feet under. and i'm really hoping to make a permanent visit soon.

and so, he said to me, “Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you want me? Because once I fall in love, there is no turning back. I love hard, and I will be obsessed with you I will smother you”.

    

                                                                                                  please do not smother me; 
                 

                              smothering implies force. 
                        It implies suppression,
                   maybe a hint of aggression, 
              with a dab of oppression 
          and a handful of asphyxiation.
      In which one kills another,
   by with the stifling of breath and emotion.
It is the death of something.

       
          
               Instead engulf me in your love;
          let me be immersed in it.
cradle me.
coddle me. 
shelter me.
                
                         let me breathe,
          
                             
                 so that I can appreciate it
                       and feel it all around me;
                that makes it so much better.
      ever so soft.
      ever so loving. 
      ever so gentle. 

                

           I understand why you want to smother,
I do.
                                  Why you want to cover parts of me
                              that you feel are light-filled.
                          Watering me with muddled emotions and actions
                     that you feel are quite harmless, but understand;
                like flowers overwatered,
             and placed in the shade
        death will become me.
         I too,
    struggle with the feeling to
repress and restrain
                                           
                                         I do 
      
                         

        
                         , but you’re somebody too
                     you’re important.
                Your love is a torrent;
        the best thing you can give along with,  
your time. 
   It’s valuable, 
so you shouldn’t give if it is unwanted 

                          


                                     even to me;
   especially to me
                      

        
                     or at least don’t make it a habit with anyone 
                 you see 
           because you are too precious 
      and too valuable 
   you say I am special,
but you too, are important 
                 

                , but thank you 

                                
         I do,
                           appreciate the gesture and the thought; 
                     I do.
                  I want your love but not like that.
               I really do,
           just not that way.
       Just not by suffocation. 
 I want to be engulfed in it…

                    
there’s a difference,
        I do not want to die… I do not want to suffocate.

until she hung her head
in your flower bed. You scorched
her with the sun, then blinded her
in shade, until her petals turned

to blades. Just as her mother pulled
her from her roots to make a
colorful corsage. She wilted attached
in her arms. You plucked her from

the garden to place on
your lapel. You wore her well! But she
died when you took off the suit and
tie. Now she’s flat and faded. If you touch her

she’ll crumble. Even her thorns
have rusted into brittle mittens. She sits in
a leather-bound book, as a space saver,
page 43, in the crook of a page. She's placed

face down. The letters tattooed to her crown.

my pink orchid sits wilting
next to the kitchen sink

I feared it was thirsty
and starting to die
so I overwatered

now the petals
are definitely
falling

there are parts of you left growing around me. in this sea of green and blue, I add salt in places so you cannot grow there anymore. I'm tired of seeing weeds in places sunflowers used to grow and where roses used to overflow, but all that's left are thorns and dead flowers that wish for someone else to water them. I can't water you anymore... you were never mine to take care of or to help grow. you're a lovely flower and all you deserve is the purest water in the world to help you to grow, and I just could never be the one to give it to you. my water is too toxic, too deadly, and too deficient of all the vitamins and the nutrients that you need to help you to flourish. and for that, I'm sorry. I know that I flooded you with my toxic water and I let myself choke you with my wrongdoings and my ignorance, and I know I can't make up for it, but you're a flower and you need to grow and I know, we all know, that in order for a flower to grow, it has to be nourished in the right manner. I wish I wouldn't have overwatered you with my toxic water, little flower, but it's time to go grow somewhere new. because my garden needs to be renewed and there's just simply nothing more that I can do for you.
*(it'll just hurt more if you stay in places where you're not meant to flourish anymore)

i was given a succulent in the 2nd week of uni.
it was small, green, young like me.
it was already flourishing unlike me.
i overwatered it in the beginning, too flushed,
too eager to take care of someone else.
my first month living alone.
i knocked it over 1 night.
half of its leaves came off after a careless nudge.
it was exam season.
now i stare at it, thinking.
does it embody me? the rot inside me?
half the leaves missing, a fifth growing a sick green?
is that my portrait of dorian gray?
i dare not water it. i dare not touch it.
my own portrait shut away.
it is now 1 day from semester 2.
will i survive?

at times I find myself buried
struggling under the weight of past mistakes
crushed by others past wrongs
tear soaked earth prompting
roots to grow
grounding me in humble bedrock

at times I find myself illuminated
blinded by flashing lights of hope
glowing underneath the suns loving warmth
leaves spreading and turning towards the light of hope

at times I find myself overwatered with praise
and at other times I find myself dehydrated of understanding

but despite it all I continue to bloom

I cut off ******* from the hand of the poet who can’t stop from writing the hymns of her.
I put them in my ears so I could escape the redundant song
About the girl with the face that inspired the seas and it’s depths
And the sun
And the moon
And the stars
And a spirit that defeated them all
I would’ve used two of my own, but I need all 10 to compose this sacrilegious psalm

Because I value Beauty not
Although I guess it’s only me
They’ll adorn your scars as long as they don’t bleed
and applaud your broken bones as long as they aren’t visible through busted seams
And they live to hear her story
No matter how old or recent
But If you look like the hell you’ve gone through they’d rather you just
Didn’t.

Or perhaps you prefer that narrative
of hate
And slaughter
And lust
But no matter how many time it’s spun
I still can’t seem to trust

The girl with the mind that dared to lock eyes with the void and it’s breadth
And time
And space
And death
And a soul that embraced them all
She’s prayed for the devil one too many times and that’s probably why he won’t leave her alone

Cause she’ll  tell you her name is fearless
And that she’s mystical and cold
But really she’s Banality
And her lionhearted stories
Old
I suppose it’s not her fault
Nor is it Beauty’s either
That their tales are all derivative
And clichéd, their Author’s leisure

They’re shrines to archetypal aspiration
Overwatered brain garden
Concept vegetation
So I pulled up Beauty’s roots
And those of Banality too
And reveled in their surprise as a **** like me ripped them from the view.
And I plant them here with me
amongst the blooming Apostasies
And how willingly they drink
My Eucharist of impiety

And now I sit with open veins
And written in my blood this
Antiphon remains
But since we’re all just echoes in the void
I’ll know  you’re lying if you say
you didn’t lick your fingers anyway
when turning the pages of this introit

light fragrant cologne, wide cappuccino cups,
rainy afternoons, and somber evenings, warm soft grips, velvet couches, and awkward silences, four legs fitting closely, overwatered money trees, church bells, crossed arms, rude tones, relentless giggles, prolonged eye-contact, tacos, the funny buzzer entrance, tears, riding skateboards home, watching art, park walks, dinner in, conspiracy videos, avoidance, breakfast sandwiches, fancy pants, cringe sayings, dad jokes, detachment, attachment, week night calls, impromptu singing, the neighbours parties, your friends drama, my friends drama, our drama, impulsive confessions, snapchat streaks, warehouse keyronas, tiny donuts, documentaries, game of thrones, embarrassed, attractive, exciting, the body pillow, convience stores, your sweater, friendly debate, heated debate, resentment, come on in, open windows, open arms, hurt, resentment, the 501, and your oatmeal sweatpants