She can’t deny herself any more.

She wants more than anything

to eat the heartshaped petals on the side

and swallow her liability. It’s dangerous

grinding her secret garden between her teeth. Who could understand

that she covets a beautiful flower, but it’s her fault she feels this way;

she compares herself to a sweet orange

when she is like a sour lemon. And then there’s a dandelion.

She takes those too, to carry with her prayers

and roses. She dreams flowers will blossom

like goosebumps on her skin. She’s anxious

to wear her hair down like grapevines. She feeds her

dreams to the ravens. We treat her with love

and write songs about her.

She felt it, something so beautiful growing in her stomach it ached.

 

mid city new orleans

 

 

 

 

 

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