when your mother held you for the first time
she couldn't imagine you spitting knives out of your mouth
cutting hearts till they bleed out
when your father was watering his garden
he never thought he'd see you
tearing his flowerbed and growing weeds
I'm here to tell you
IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT
that you were fed knives
you are pure
you are the best soil
it is not your fault
you had to saw rotten seeds
and you don't deserve
to reap
other peoples ghosts
it is your choice
you can pick the right seeds
you can grow an oak
childer will climb and swing on
you can grow a jungle
and be a home
it only takes a daisy
for you to recognize your power and take over
you are soil
I am soil
I grew my first miracle just recently
its petals are blue and violet
they grew from bruises
it was exhausting and rough
it was a peculiar epiphany
it was a sudden catharsis
I carry my miracle on my back
it drips down it
it is not black tears
it is ink
