By Caroline Ho, Assistant Editor
I have this tendency, as such
to ruin everything I touch
to damage all that I hold dear
the fool who dares to stand too near
I bury fingers in the dirt
where I pretend that nothing hurts
where hints of green poke through the soil—
one new life I’ve yet to spoil
I’ve planted it, this tiny seed
so I can grow it, tend its needs
so what if I forget to water
(truth is it’s so hard to bother)
I take this task upon myself
let this plant live, if nothing else
let me believe I’m something more
this plant can be my metaphor
I tell myself that I can change
that I will learn to rearrange
that tendency toward self-hate
but that’s all I can cultivate
I want to nurture, care for, tend
to more than just this withered end
to let this living being grow
but I don’t have it in me, no
I pray someday I’ll learn to love
just shed these roots and rise above
just wait, one day, we’ll blossom free—
but until then, I’ll just be me.