sprouting

My right-side brain's growing fowers,

my lungs are sprouting roots.

My heart's a dripping beehive,

its sweetness all for you.

So wrap it all up in paper,

send a burnt offering to the sky.

Pack it up in mason jars,

preserve it with the vinegar of your lies.

My body is a garden with a locked gate,

clouds shifting from love to hate.

Rewind the tapes, watch my life back,

hindsight's always 20/20.

My favourite colour wasn't always black,

and I smiled in a golden light.

Flower crowns and swimming pools,

how I miss suburbia.

Wasn't always fucking with the cool kids,

but I grew up.

Now all I'm worried about is if I'm your type.

My eyelashes are vines that grow together.

Β 

This poem is about: 
Me

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