the plant’s petals kiss me shut,
and clasp until i wilt.
a child draws circles around me
with fingers sticky from sweets,
watching like god,
then forgetting.
i have never been fed
anything i didn’t bleed for.
i scrape for crumbs,
fight mold for a place to rot in peace.
i was not kissed into being
no sunbeam cradled me awake
i rose from filth and yesterday’s scraps,
from larva, from sorrow, from memory’s traps.
i bloom in decay
bred in the bruise of a ripening tray
in the hush of the spoiled, the soft of the swarm
forgotten before i learn to stay
and maybe, baby,
i will die that way.
