top of page


I am not ashamed to admit that I am in my twenties

I am not ashamed to admit that I have wanted to rest well beneath the soil

And I am not ashamed to admit that as I write this,

that want has not been satiated

I know to some, my woes are nothing

But to those like me, where growing old is a luxury we dread

And being happy a forgotten past time,

Where time stretches outwards for far too long

Where we want nothing more than to sit in our flower bed

And enjoy the smell of the earth and

Feel the fingers of winter

There are those among us that want to avoid their flower beds at all cost

To pluck each flower from their soil

To pluck and pluck until they have a bouquet

Held together in bloodied and dirt-covered hands

While they run as far as they can

The cold air filling their lungs

The graceful rays of the sun enlightening their skin

Its warmth brazen

Their grip tight on their bouquet so that not



Will drop

I envy those of you who enjoy growing older

And even feel anxious that the time you have is never enough

I cannot remember the last time…

But I do hope I get out soon from this flower bed

And pluck away like you do

Before it’s too late


bottom of page