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.