I try to love plants even when they're not flowering,
to accept them for their leaves and stems –
for what they are, not what they could be.
but what could be still lingers on my mind
with every beautiful stranger and poetic moment
“what if this could be the start of something new?”
if those thoughts were a plant, I'd let them wither
I'd cut off all of their flowers before they bloom
leave them to dry up under an unforgiving sun.
Why must there be whispers of more?
dreams of seeds taking root in desolate soil
that damned push to plant a garden of love.
I know they see these thoughts in my mind
vines creeping out from my ears, covering my eyes
so long as they remain, sincerity is a question.
I want the answer to be careless acceptance
not a meticulously curated garden
but a forest: wild and beautiful and forever free.
-Zero
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