CW: Mild potential body horror throughout the poem Untitled   I don’t plan on having arthritic bones to dig up. No anthropologist will be able to answer if my hips belonged to a boy or a girl. Instead, my ribs will grow a tree. A…

Welcome to my secret garden party, Willow. She couldn’t talk back, so she just nodded. i poured tea for two, chamomile and lavender. She glanced over at the wild mint patch. I knew what to do, a leaf or two for each cup. Her long,…

Swaying lightly in the breeze, hang her tendrils. Ivy, green, they reach all the way to the dusty, forest floor.   Her mighty oak branches, dressed in mosses and ferns are beautiful, no doubt, but it’s her verdant hair that enamors me more.        

the swing somewhere near my childhood a swing hangs from the branch of an old tree which leans over the edge of a cliff often filled with mist an ancient house hides nearby only a few family members know of this tree’s odd power to…

Tall and strong and graceful, Whispering gently in the breeze, Nothing to be scared of, Not a person you should please, Tall and strong and grateful, Teach me your most inspiring ways, Send my roots down through the earth, And teach me how to sway.