a hundred reasons to stay strong:
the scarf adorning your dog’s neck,
letting your sister borrow clothes:
small miracles, perfumed by ends
of stories, starts of your mornings.
thrust your fingers in a thicket
of hibiscus, honeysuckle,
eucalyptus, or mimosas —
wear smells, wear shedding skin from them
on your skin like a riddle, like
dictionary words, descriptions.
you could be honey, if you took
the queen bee, and sucked her sweet
into yourself. fertile crawler.
sick goddess. you are the god.
do not mistake her sweetness for
your own. be plague. be survival.
collect dust from butterfly wings,
smear it on your face like warpaint.
you are allowed to ruin things, queen.
Photo credit: Mr Seb on Flickr