1.
there is a rotten smell
permeating this particular instance
of public transit
and i wonder if it is me
is this the aftermath of
what i never coughed up for you
in the midst of my unrequited love?
it wouldn’t be flowers for you, though
i think clovers would have been more fitting
like the one that you gave me
hand-crafted pendant on a leather cord
and i really have to be more careful
with my heart, don’t i?
all these pretty things i can write about love
can’t hold a candle to the real, reciprocated thing
and i realize now it was unfair of me
to ask of you something you could not give
but i love you just the same
albeit it with less heartache and tears
2.
that rot must be coming from me
and the roses
pink like the sunset and downy soft
i planted between my ribs for you
did you see that garden?
how i tried to give you everything i had
the way i allowed you to take and take
and asked for little in return?
but what is a garden
when it is trapped behind towering walls
with no one to see the way all those flowers shine,
and what a lonely thing that is
i choked myself on roses for you
and that wasn’t enough
was i not enough?
hard not to feel like it, if you must know
but i have better things to do
than make my throat bleed
with all these words and love
with nowhere to go
i think it’s time that i plant
some flowers for myself
no more roses or clovers
but maybe dandelions this time