she who is tired, writes

A collection of poetry because they had nowhere to go

[that-tired-poet]

Tending

They say tears water your soul

yet the garden in me refuses to grow

I keep pulling out flowers before they can bloom

checking for colour before they could show

I should have had enough to hand bouquets

for every hour of every day

and still all I have are dirt stained hands

from digging sand and silt and clay

They say tears water your soul

but now it drowns too much, too soon

and the Sun burns too far, too cold

so nothing can grow that I can hold

26/11/23, 22.29 [that-tired-poet]