Watering Dead Plants

{Word Vomit}

            Here goes nothing…

Renaissance by definition rebirth. Is one able to reincarnate into the same molecular vessel and still experience this “renaissance?” Is one able to be born again and not physically die. People tend to just ignore, run away and try to just “keep the eye on the prize.” Religion seems to be the answer to some, to others religion is the “opiate of the masses.” Where does one find the answers to questions one is afraid to solve? Are humans capable of living without fear? Questions flood the mind, as if the brain was drowning and gasping for air in the same fluid it floats on. Life hits fast and hard. When does one know to duck and cover or face it head on and hump it into submission? There are a google of questions and no solid answer in sight. Unable to tangibly possess these responses one is left floundering like a fish out of water in the depth of the world’s oceans.

Placed out of comfort and left to roam alone. Constantly thinking of taking it back, repeatedly conceptualizing if the proper, fair and adequate decision was mutually agreed. UMI said “shine your light on the world.” My light don’t feel that bright.

Plants grow if you water them. Did I drown my plan? Did I not give it the nutrients needed for it to grow and flourish? WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? When does one know when to stop watering that plant? I don’t know how to keep this from withering, and I don’t want this to die. I have the fertilizer in hand. At least I hope I have the right one. Cultivating love and not knowing when to harvest. I feel uprooted; pulled out of the soil which feeds my drive to live. Am I withering away? Laying on dirt, soiled. Maybe the pot was too far from the plant. Perhaps it was the wrong soil to begin with. For all I know, the soil nursing my beautiful flower’s roots is her home. Lemme tell you about this flower.

Puakenikeni scented, blossomed just right. Flowing freely, but always keeping it tight. Carnivorous, trapping my every move. Be looking buttery, silky smooth. Generously distributed in all the right places. A SlimThicc plantae, with volumptious petals. Cross germinated, tracing roots from east to west north and south. There is something special about my flower.

I’d like to say we grew together. Always believing we’d never grow apart. Belief is an interesting word since “believe” means to doubt. Believing isn’t knowing, uncertainty still sits when there is belief instead of fact. My flower and I trusted we’d grow, blossom, wither and die together. A mutual decision from the start. The pit was ready for the seed. Encouraged by my family and the flowers to promise them some seedlings.

The pit grew and filled with hope. Hope that in 1,2,3,5 years there would be an abundance of seeds planted and sprouting. Hope. Fucking Hope. Is all I had. Never anything tangible. Always filled with ominous feelings and half ass responses. Always pushing to get something out of this. Maybe I pushed too hard.

            *THC Break*

My flower can’t grow if I’m holding her back. I want my flower to grow. I need my flower to know that I love and never wish her wrong. I must have my flower understand that I love her and out of love this was agreed upon. I require my flower to flourish. WITH OR WITHOUT ME.

Allah, Oprah, Jesus whoever knows that I will never forget the memories and thoughts of my flower. They’re tremendous. I just wish I could continue to make memories with my flower. I hope my flower feels the same way. I hope my flower could’ve communicated to me, someway.

I sit and think about all those little signs when my flower was trying to tell me something. A fallen petal here. Talk with no response. A cut stem over there. Was I blind or playing blind? I can’t help but think that I’ll never get my flower back. I can’t help but assume that my skewed vision was the reason my flower couldn’t stay with me any longer. Why can’t I be her source of love and nourishment and everlasting company anymore? The more that thought simmers in my heart the more real the pain feels. Though it could be my heel. Thrown in Judo landed on that heel. My heel will heal and my heart currently envies the healing heel.

This self is never selfish, but selfishly I’d like to be when it comes between my flower and me. Selfish in the sense that I don’t want her to receive the love I give her from anyone else. Maybe my love is what’s causing her to wither from me. I never once disagreed with my flower and always encouraged to pursue more. What have I done to become so unattractive that I can’t be part of my flower’s life anymore?

Fluids running from all frontal orifices. Keeping the keyboard at bay. I sit here trying to slay these words but I’m lacking sources. Afraid to look back deep into my mind’s eye. Scared of the beauty I’ll definitely find. There is no fine for the evidence that lies of my flower and I. Well… maybe my sanity.

            A relationship of almost three years. Almost…

Lost and not as confused because I know that my flower will continue on. With me or without…