I have been punishing myself again.
two weeks in a row.
you say it's fine,
you don't need me to be a garden,
but the whole world wants me to be a garden.
they want me to have ivy hair
& rose-bud lips.
they want root legs & for the
wandering to wither.
I am withered.
I am where dead things come to rest.
there is nothing left
of nurturing in my belly.
this is fine, but you do not think it is fine.
I have been punishing myself again,
thinking of your subtle punishing.
I think of ten years from now.
I think of resentment & how
we will let it slide into our bed.
I think of letting you go,
so you can find a garden girl.
some garden girl to give
you everything you deserve.