lying side by side
on your 18th century
wooden floors.it was a tuesday.
that blood won't come out you know
that bloods gonna stain your beautiful floors
i ripped the bottom of my shirt
inventing a rag.
we had no cleaning supplies
we had no cleaning supplies
usually.
it began to soak up all the blood
your running faucet mouth
had shed. your stupid mouth.
and just as you roll your eyes
and just as you roll your eyes
trying to get the words out
(you gauzy mouthed man)
thinking how I ALWAYS attach myself
to the "insignificant"
(the baby bird on the cement,the homeless man in norway with no feet)
to the minuscule ways of (me) being a being
your disdain of my commotion:
my tendency for productivity.
a daily harvest of emotion.
i was writing you well
i was holding on to your
boney hand
as you told me you didn't love me
as i told you to take your vitamin c.
we were listening to crows sing
we were refraining from dancing
i.was.shriveling.
i included you in my memories
or what was left of the concept
remember that day we only ate purple things?
remember the day we kept trying to count your breaths?
and we lost count..and we...melted inside of the ground
and planted ourselves to grow into
better versions of ourselves-a rare type of plant.
as you wilted,i grew quite sad
and shriveled my branches
back into the ground.
you were throwing up seeds
as i gathered them
I'm so sorry,i treated them as weeds
go back to the very second i told you
blood stains are forever lasting
the second you told me
my mouth would be prettier stitched up
with lavender thread,sealed shut.
rewind to:
the day i told you i needed more blueberries
from the corner store
as i was looking up at you
putting on my fur coat
(that belonged to your grandmother)
on sunday's the image of the day-
i left your doorway
& took my ribs to the train.
i brought my watering can
and a picture frame.
the image of my eyelashes for the first time
not smiling.
you simply asked me to bloom
in the wrong environment.
to the "insignificant"
(the baby bird on the cement,the homeless man in norway with no feet)
to the minuscule ways of (me) being a being
your disdain of my commotion:
my tendency for productivity.
a daily harvest of emotion.
i was writing you well
i was holding on to your
boney hand
as you told me you didn't love me
as i told you to take your vitamin c.
we were listening to crows sing
we were refraining from dancing
i.was.shriveling.
i included you in my memories
or what was left of the concept
remember that day we only ate purple things?
remember the day we kept trying to count your breaths?
and we lost count..and we...melted inside of the ground
and planted ourselves to grow into
better versions of ourselves-a rare type of plant.
as you wilted,i grew quite sad
and shriveled my branches
back into the ground.
you were throwing up seeds
as i gathered them
I'm so sorry,i treated them as weeds
go back to the very second i told you
blood stains are forever lasting
the second you told me
my mouth would be prettier stitched up
with lavender thread,sealed shut.
rewind to:
the day i told you i needed more blueberries
from the corner store
as i was looking up at you
putting on my fur coat
(that belonged to your grandmother)
on sunday's the image of the day-
i left your doorway
& took my ribs to the train.
i brought my watering can
and a picture frame.
the image of my eyelashes for the first time
not smiling.
you simply asked me to bloom
in the wrong environment.