For days I have allowed the scene of a crime
to exist heavy in my mind. An act
of vandalism. The origami roses
have all been torn to pieces and the ink
stains angry red. Think of me
I should have said – should have armed
myself with flowers and love not listened
to blue black words, should not have
inflicted my own bruises.
For days I have lain in a meadow
where silence reigns and to be frank
I am quite done. I am finished,
floor swept, and hands wiped clean
of all you have ever thought of me.
My bruises will yellow to green
and sprout kinder things than a love
built on the sands of envy.
(and you should know that things
built on sand never last.)
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020