the garden you wake up to
each morning you open your eyes and there is a small garden inside you never the same as yesterday some days it is all thorns and dry soil some days clover lies down like a soft apology
you did not choose the seeds they were slipped into your pockets by parents. lovers. strangers. by a world that never checked if you had room for more
but you choose what you water what you pull out with shaking hands you choose which feeling grows tall enough to throw its shade across your day








