Every love I’ve ever had has killed me,

Every love I’ve ever had has killed me,

they instill my mind with their earth soil eyes,

Fueling my desires with their hands,

Imagining a future with him, enjoying him

watering me with artificial fulfillment.

When I was little I used to love plants,

their saturated skin and admirable growth.

And so I picked them. I only took the pretty part,

no roots, a little bit of stem, though surely

the whole flower. I framed them in my hair

like a medallion on my neck. Until the pretty part slowly

wilted into a monotone fade. I didn’t care

for the floret when it stopped blooming

into something beautiful. Then I’d pick the petals,

one by one, and throw them away.

I was his flower.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s