My head is a chaotic garden.
memories planted everyday,
demons growing from the soil,
fed by the games people play.
It's an organized chaos.
i can keep track now
of who lives where.
it is after all
my garden.
somewhere in there
in the midst of every relationship
every conversation
every smile
every sideways glance,
you find a place to hide
a place to stay
a place to live
a place to hibernate
and wait until the next time
you decide to bloom
bright above all the others.
you wait until i think i'm okay
i think i'm used to your scent being gone
to the thought of you not coming back.
you're the only demon
I can't stop watering.
and I'm growing to not be okay with that.
YOU ARE READING
Call It What You Want [A Poetry Collection]
Poetry[PUBLISHED WORK AVAILABLE ON AMAZON] This is for the misfits. the heavy hearts. the broken minds and the lost souls. this is for the bruised lovers with tainted skin. the options left behind, not good enough to be put first. this is for the readers...
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