wilting flowers

wilting flowers

I don’t understand 

The conventionality of flowers. 

Why are they such a symbol of love? 

After a week or two

You wilt alongside them 

You too droop when you see them. 

They are as temporary as 

The love they are given with. 

Or maybe the love they never had. 

A bouquet of 

Snapdragons 

Tansys

Marigolds

Purple Hyacinths

Two-Toned Carnations 

Yellow Roses. 

They look beautiful in the moment

But only because you 

Accept them at face value. 

You let them sit in a vase 

Thinking the water would stop them from wilting 

The same way you think that receiving them 

Would save your relationship.

a shadow through the corner of my eye

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Toronto

Toronto

A freezing February morning

Snow falling at an angle.  

Beautiful, but I suffer. 

Stuffing gloved hands into pockets, 

 

Taking off fogged glasses, 

Wearing a hood bigger than my head, 

Fitting a mask around my face  

The layers I packed weren’t enough. 

My feet; numb. 

As I walk on salted sidewalks  

With white on either side. 

The roads gray, 

 and wet as tires 

 Skid across them.  

A city.

 Trapped in the shadows. 

Of winter. 

Her.

Her.

Her touch.

A match. 

The start of an eternal fire, 

Within

That nothing could quench. 

Her lips.

A heart.

Beating inside,

Begging for release.

Her arms.

Enveloping me, 

Similar to fresh linen 

Draped over an otherwise barren mattress. 

Her aura.

Reminding me of the sun in June.

A bundle of light, 

Always bright. 

Her voice.

Lulling me 

Into a peaceful slumber. 

Her. 

I see now,

Just how much 

That word means. 

(you made) a mess of my mind

(you made) a mess of my mind

dear you, 

today i finally lost. 

i just couldn’t take it. 

i thought i was strong,

i guess not. 

maybe

i should’ve given you another chance

perhaps 

i should’ve held on longer 

or 

 given you the benefit of the doubt 

given you more advice

been able to understand your joke 

said something earlier. 

i can give 

a million excuses 

to blame it on me.

but, there’s no excuse 

to call me 

a [redacted]. 

didn’t you stop 

for a second 

to think 

that maybe 

that was 

wrong

to say? 

did 

you

really 

think

that

of 

me? 

i hope not. 

i hope

that 

was 

only 

just 

a 

twisted

joke. 

because for four months 

you made

a mess of my mind. 

you said i made you feel confident. 

you said you loved me. 

but, a lover wouldn’t call me a [redacted]. 

now, that i think, were we even friends either?

because a real friend wouldn’t do that. 

even as a joke.

i’m glad 

 

i blocked

you.