Life’s like an old rose garden,
once blooming,
now withering.

Petals falling,
replaced by dry leaves,
wrapped in silence,
once so rare,
now so heavy.

I return home,
laughter ringing in ears.

But as the door shuts,
loneliness greets me,
like a cold, hazy mist,
or dark clouds that the stars resist.

why do I hang onto the end of every sentence like it’s a secret code waiting for me to answer

maybe the wolf is my mother?
running after me in jealousy as my heart pounds to get away,
begging for escape.
i am the lamb,
maybe the wolf is my brother,
chasing me as a child,
his touch frightening and unkind.
I am the lamb,
and maybe the wolf is my father, ripping and biting at my throat so my screams cannot be heard.
i am the lamb,
pure, innocent,
and covered in blood.
for what is left of me,
if the wolf wears my skin.

Did you sense my emergence, good beak,
A gloopy shell dragging egg slime and sand
to the waiting sea.
With clammy innards, I lumbered
under a morose sun while you
pecked my eyes to nourish
your blood disease.
Adieu, good beak, it was mine to
be momentary.

My muse is unreliable
Silent most of the time
But when he finally sings
It’s a sound sublime
Unfortunately
For all of us
Including mostly me
He doesn’t
Believe

Being a people pleaser is a part of me
You ask if I can meet you
I’ll promise you yes.
My schedule that will not allow it
I’ll change it so it can
My schedule will be deconstructed and reconstructed to form for yours.

You don't seem to like my laugh
I can laugh differently
To your liking.
Molding and creating a new me for you
My personality being formed around you.
An obsession,
An unhealthy obsession to make a personality formed for you.

The lesson here is to say what you hate
Because I'll change for you always
I'll lose who I am,
But as long as you're happy
I’m a people pleaser.