Banners of blossom
Hardy perennials
One big metaphor

in your bloom, everything finds a softer shape—all bent by tenderness. your sweet fragrance unfurls, letting me feel home in all directions. even in stillness, your presence ripples—like a soft pulse, a faint glow; like the first light gently falling on earth.

you are a flower pressed into my heart—wild and perfect—rooted in every beat, entwining itself to the rhythm of my life.

Tell me what is it like to close my eyes
against the brilliance of your smile,
Yet I still feel it’s warmth on my skin?
Like a breath held in full anticipation,
I can’t wait to take you in, before letting
you out; just to find my natural peace.

Those intense stares, sending shivers
down my spine, walking round the corners
of uncertainty within me – you remind me
Of a picture of glass stairs, that leads straight
to your heart; yet each step must be taken with
the utmost caution– you are delicately beautiful.

Each dawn, I find myself quietly haunted
by the memory of your tender caress,
The remnants of yesterday’s air infused
with your essence, drifting into the promise
Of tomorrow – I wonder at which moment you
will unveil your love for me, as one might
delicately pluck the petals of a flower.

“She loves me, she loves me not…”
I am still unravelling that enigma.

Can my vanity turn me into a tulip I wonder?
Have I misunderstood a fable as a fact
A myth as an aspiration.
I beg to be released from flesh and thoughts, into petals I ask.
No. There are no myths nor magic so
Enough! I turn to science and
Demand to be reformed
And if fantasy won’t let me, perhaps science will and
No more bruised and bended knees but
Did I not ask well enough?
Why can I not pass through winter as rot
Indifferent to time?
Then spend some days as beauty in
Heat, in
Earth, please.
Remember not my voice, not my face, not my body, not my self.
End me wholly each year but let me.
Doom me solely each year but let me.

A white flower
Has bloomed on my porch
Small glistening raindrops
Fall below it
Seeping into the grass and its concrete
The morning sun shines
Over the horizon
Wishing better days
To those below
I think of you
As the mist blinds my eyes
As the crow cries at the mourning
Today the sun shines
Between the dense pillows
And masks the glint between my pupils

I’ve shown my body,
More times than I've gotten flowers.
What's crazy is,
I love flowers
And hate my body.

But you don’t,
You love my body.
It’s what pulled you in,
What made you even want me.

Not me,
Not the way I spill my dreams at midnight,
Not the way I trace constellations on fogged-up windows,
Not the sparkle in my eyes,
Not my heart.

Just the skin,
Just the shape,
Just something to hold,
Just something interesting.
Just something to ****

You may worship me,
You may make me favour my body,
You may treat me right,
And you may “love” me now.

But the beginning is just the same
And if I were to lose any charm or,
God forbid my looks.
You’d leave and never come back.

I hate my body
And yet,
I still wait for flowers.

Woke within a dream,
amidst dense forest.

a tree stood,
older than time,
casting its shadow.

a touch of it,
showed all it had lived—
bloodied sword clash,
clouds that wept for years,
flora it wore,
wildflowers it shielded,
the warmth it once kissed.

yet it stood still.
as I faded,
back into the dream.