I mess up a lot. I always have. You don't know when to stop. You move on too fast. I don't want to wait for you but my patience gets the best of me. You don't want to tend the gardens growing oh so peacefully, leaf by leaf and petal by petal, the metal of your heart and the rust under your eyes from tears are proof enough that you miss me, my dear. I adored you and you closed the door. I will grow my garden on my own, you've just pulled the weeds, my darling.
YOU ARE READING
Poetrying
PoetrySilly poems I write Whether in the dead of night Or when the sun shines bright
