I love you.
I hate you.
I love you.
I hate you.
I love you.
I hate you...
oops. Have to get another daisy...

The air is fresh
The sky is clear
The birds are singing
The smell is pure

You wouldn’t believe I do
I am
From every thought you have
To every doubt
Rethink
I’m not in the realm of things
Nor do I abide by rigid practices
I seem out of whack
That’s because in a sense
To some maybe
Or just
Free

Attracted to the broken
Like myself
I yearn to be fixed
To make amends
To feel once again
To wake up to my favorite person at my side
It’s not in the cards for me
And it wasn’t for you
So broken
No matter the repairs
I’ll never feel like new
Find me in a thrift store
Along with the other gems
Marked down due to being used

For the young,
the gut-wrenching ache
of love lost
Remembers.

The old witches know:
it forgets,
for memory is the reward—
a gift for having known
a twin in this world
(even if only for a short time).