content warning: plant based body horror

there’s dirt on my skin, there always is. the flowers on my desk have died and gone to heaven. and i don’t think i’m going with them, no matter how much i yearn for escape. cause and there’s a spiderweb inside me, and it’s growing by the day, it’s got me all tangled up now, like a butterfly daydream. or a codling moth. i’ve got chips in both my shoulders, dirt under my nails, aorta dying back. but i can’t fix it up, can’t make myself give a shit. i’ve got mud on my knees, and my veins show a bit. sometimes touching my body is enough to make me feel sick. i can’t feel my ribs, ’cause i think i cut those back. and the ivy’s taken over for good this time. so i’ve got willow branches for hair, i’ve got daisies in my eyes. dandelions on my belly. gotta pull them out before they go to seed. gotta wipe this out, gotta get it all clean, drown it out in salt and vinegar. something strong enough to knock the gods off their feet.

So, I have absolutely no idea what this piece means–but I came up with it a few days ago, and I really love plant-based body horror. It might just be because I spend a lot of time thinking about plants, so it comes naturally to me, I’m not sure–and I love writing more metaphorical, slightly creepy pieces like this.


i close my eyes on the walk home, warm may breeze brushing its fingers through my hair, and gently closing my eyes. but that’s all right. because i’ve still got half a coffee to finish, and nothing left to do this afternoon. it tastes so sweet i want to cry.

wrapping me up in its arms like forgiveness, sea-salt and caramel melting on my lips. and even though it’s over now, it’s i’ll still trace the lines of scars on my skin; spend whole afternoons learning to copy them out by memory.

and what do you do, when every drop of nostalgia is poisoned with spindle-sharp cotton candy? when every embrace takes you back to grass-stained jeans all alone? ’cause i don’t have a fucking clue. but maybe that’s okay.

i’ll sit in my ignorance, like a cheap blow-up pool. i’ll cut my hair, i’ll make a friendship bracelet. i’ll take off my shoes, and wade in the water until i get cold.

i’ll hold your hand for just a moment, before it overwhelms me. i’m not used to being loved this way, rosewater and malt. i’m still learning to be soft, to let i love yous flow freely off my tongue.

and it tastes like sunscreen and sweat, as i press my lips to the back of my palm. but that’s okay. ’cause the blood will dry, and the scars will sink in. i think i’ll mount them in the portrait hall, and tell the world that i have slayed my dragon, for once and for all. i’ll take my victory forgranted for one more afternoon, and doesn’t that sound perfect?

So, this is very self-indulgent, but it’s finally warming up here, I wore shorts for the first time this year a few days ago, and I’m allowed to be ridiculously self-indulgent from time to time. Humour me.

In all seriousness, I’m constantly trying to give myself permission to write happy poems–not just the depressing ones. I don’t know, sometimes you just need to romanticize the little things in your life, and pretend you’re the protagonist in an animated movie, and I think there are far worse coping mechanisms in the world. So, I don’t know, go out there and like whatever the hell you want to! Have a good time! Be creative! I don’t know, it’s really late at night and I’m in a weirdly good mood, if I could shower the world in flower petals I absolutely would.

Lots of love,