(Poem) (Second Person POV) (Self-hate) (Berry) (Clara Mention) (Endie Mention)
You have never had a green thumb
On your first day out of that awful place you planted a white rose (White was always your favorite color)
A new beginning
Every day you would go outside and water it, care for it it, doing all the things you do for a flower
It died after two weeks
Did it get too much water? Were you overbearing? Not enough sun? Were you not enough?
So you try again
and again
and again
They die again
and again
and again
A whole garden of wilted roses
You count the petals falling
Loves me, Loves me not, Loves me, Loves me not
Fitting, you suppose, that someone like you can’t keep anything alive
Not far from your garden, is a thriving one
It’s taken care of by someone who carries buttercups on xyr back wherever they go
Xe plants white tulips (White was always your favorite color)
You don’t think they could kill that garden if xe tried
And how they’ve tried
You plant another rose in your garden at night, and inside someone sleeps
Someone who’s life is more fragile than the blooms that wilt no matter how hard you try
You have never had a green thumb
But that has never stopped you from trying