I.
Damn.
I left for too long… kept retreating to the bright white space in my head: A nonstop
Pulsing
Raging
Argument between what I know
And what I don’t…
I spent too long in that space / holed up against the flesh of my loved ones / latching on to the complex veins
In their throats and arms
I smoked
And smoked
And cried
And … the soil in my plant grew dry..
The stalks began to yellow, the color deceitfully bright for the damage it caused
Soon individual leaves fell limp
Oxygen failed to reach the very ends of thirsty petals
All of the flowers had fallen to places I couldn’t see
Fuuuuuuck.
I was gone too fucking long.
This plant, and the one on the other side of my room
Both of them—lost to the fog of my habits.
Where’s the water?
II.
Whew. Shit. Bitch.
If I pour too much, I’ll drown them both—Reggie and Betty I call them.
“They” say when you find a person near starvation or dehydration—you give them small amounts. You gently wet the tongue with a few drops of water.
I step out of the haze for a minute.
Once I lift the blinds, I remember that the sun is warm on my skin.
Here are my few drops of water and kind words to you.
III.
Affirmations for my days look shaky at this point
I step out of the whirlwind and fall back into it
Tripping on shit I certainly didn’t put in my path
Shit I’m struggling to move out of my way
To give them more weight —I speak to these budless, utterly resilient plants
And in the end I ask them for courage
As I take the first step to healing them
I like to use a round, black pair of scissors that I own
— They remind me of me —
To remove that which is dying
And kills everything around it.
