In humble nature, the roots dig out and away. The tree parents planted somehow adverts from the light and sprouts and flourishes in shadows of sidewalks and meanness. The affectionate feel too warm, too suffocating and you can’t stop sweating, and it makes you slippery. She’s holding onto your wrist tighter, you just get wetter and the cuff slips leaving you on the cold hard floor. Stay put to bathe in the obscene white fluorescence.
Dig your silver spoon into your brain, and force feed me your unique gravity, the one where I can finally be vertical like everyone else. But god knows it is the ones who lay like doormats that keep heaven manageable.
God also created love like hate, the loving have this inevitable phenomena of crushing. It’s not always that a pearl or diamond results in excrementitious force. All the teachers in the world cannot teach a force so destined for the otherside of the same coin.
When he was a kid, he liked to toss coins into the stream behind his grandmother's house. The house was so haunted because his grandma ended up breaking a shin from a subtle push down the porch. So when he went to school with black eyes, she would whisper, remember it’s those damn ghosts that haunt this old home, and not your fathers watering hole!
I’d like to die in water, the coins said. But instead they lay upon the child’s eyelids, resulting from the anger you left to smolder while drinking the devil's honey. Your therapist said the only person who is hurting you is you, and that’s how you found out monsters were real.
So lay down. Flat. On the crack of a busy sidewalk. And let god ignore you like he did since you were born. Left in the heat and alone to melt.