What Grows Under the Ground

One day, Tilly decides to grow a garden. She wants a beautiful garden, with lots of flowers. She wants to plant them right outside of her bedroom window, so that she can see them whenever she likes. Tilly can almost smell their fragrance and see the riot of colors already. She has time. It’s spring right now, the perfect time to grow a garden.

“Sounds impractical,” her mother says, when Tilly mentions her plans. Her mother is busy with her morning coffee and doesn’t look over at Tilly, so she doesn’t notice her expression turn from excited to withdrawn again. “Gardens are hard work, you know. You should plant something more useful, like some vegetables. Not flowers.”

Tilly walks outside and stares thoughtfully at the spot in their yard where she wants to make her garden. She imagines rows of carrots or lettuce instead of pretty flowers that smell nice. It doesn’t seem half as appealing to her, and so Tilly decides to ignore her mother’s advice.

She walks to the nearby village. This is quite a walk for Tilly, who usually does not venture much outside of her room during the day. At first, she’s pleased. It’s cool out, but the sky is clear and blue, and the fresh air feels good against her skin. Maybe she’ll walk to the village more often.

Except, when Tilly reaches the village, she’s reminded all over again why she rarely goes there. Too many people are around. Everywhere she tries to walk, Tilly almost trips over someone. Why are there so many people here? She can’t imagine living like this every day.

Eventually, after much effort, Tilly manages to free herself from the press of the crowd and arrives at the market. She wanders around for a little while longer, and finds someone who is selling flower seeds. The person selling them is someone Tilly knows. They are friends, she thinks. A girl her age named Missy.

“What are you doing here?” Missy asks in surprise.

Since Tilly has never been here to buy seeds before, she looks over the selection carefully. “I want to plant some flowers,” she says, wondering what ones she should buy. All of the seeds have little signs with their names on them, but no pictures, and Tilly doesn’t know which flowers look like what she’s seen before.

“Flowers take a lot of work to grow,” Missy says. She’s standing behind the display and looks quite bored. “I don’t know if you can do it.”

Tilly doesn’t know, either. She’s never made a garden before. Still, she wants to try.

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Meet Tilly, whose garden never grows. No one has ever taught her how to make a proper garden. She toils and toils every day, but everything that she plants always dies. Instead of helping her or offering some advice, though, everyone around Tilly berates her for failing. Still, Tilly tries, again and again, to create her own garden. Will anything ever grow?

Want to read the rest? You can find the short story here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07S7FD8LQ.

Unknown

Who do we have to die?

Everyone always says that
as long as we’re remembered
we live forever.

But that’s not really true, is it?

The truth is that one day
we all disappear.

It’ll happen to everyone
eventually.

Why?

Why does everything have to end?

I’m not asking
for the meaning of life.

I know that living is good.

That trying is important.

I just want to know why
everything must come to an end.

Why is everything created only to die?

Sore Loser

I beat you
So you pretend that
You never cared
About winning in
The first place
How could you
Have wanted this prize
Clutched in my fierce
Grip? No, it’s childish
This wanting and taking
You have better things
To do with your time
Always in a hurry to
Look busy, to seem
More important than me
Here, have a paper crown
From me, watch it get
Ruined in the rain
That follows you around
Endlessly. Maybe try for
Something more honestly
Next time we play together

Remain

Wishes are sacred
Tell not a soul
Bury them deep inside
Cover up the hole

Blood and bones hold
You together, puppet on
Strings, dangling from
Their fingers helplessly

Don’t speak, don’t listen
Don’t hear, don’t understand
There’s nothing to grow
Everything’s ashes now

A lesson in the briefness

Of eternity, the well dries
Up, cracks and crumbles
Until the skeletons remain

In My Hands

Something grows, but I feel dead inside
Lost to the battle, weeds pulled up and tossed aside

I am not new anymore, used and thrown away
Withered and dried up, left to rot all alone

When something comes to life, I lock myself
Deep inside and pretend to have died, every time

What is the trick to growing healthy and beautiful?
Why am I so full of poison and death instead?

I’d like to learn the secrets to this kind of magic
But no one’s ever bothered to teach me how to love

Have to look through the glass and wonder if it’s even

Possible to learn, or will everything die in my hands?

In This Place - Volume 3

Sometimes, the world can be cruel and hard. Sometimes, hope can seem all but lost. Sometimes, the only way forward is down into deeper darkness.

This third volume of my poetry is not as bright or uplifting as the previous ones, but I hope that my words can still enrapture your spirit and give you some insight into my soul.

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You can check out the third and edited volume of my poetry here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07R9JWB6V.