I've been granted a garden
but I'm picking petals
off flowers you never gave me
to place on my face
so whenI see you at Walgreens
you won't be able to tell how red I'll be.
I've got burn marks every space
you've ever kissed me& I'm so sick
of saying "they're stains from where I spilt juice."
I drink nectar
to stay "so pretentious"
to stay "so goddamn pretentious."
Atleast that's what you used to say
and I'll never use "said"
because I've determined
your voice is a train without a terminal
and food for thought in a famine.
February is the longest month,
it's been six weeks-
destruction takes a heartbeat
and growth, a lifetime.
And my branches are still bare
but bursting to blossom any second
just you wait.
The leaves were never even golden
There's an end of a tunnel never found
& a light that's never put out
at the end,
but the fire burns no more.