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flowers
believe me
believe in my petals
that protrude through my teeth
even though you have withered them
believe in my lavender limbs
although they may drip azalea
believe in my daisy’s death
and peony promises
and that my white roses
have turned to red ones
all because of you
reach down my throat
and pull out the roots you have planted in my stomach
believe me when i tell you
i breathe out baby’s breath
and that you smell like the honeysuckle
i picked as a little girl
believe me when i tell you your
fingers are floral
your hands hyacinths
ones i wish i could touch
but i do not wish to hurt your delicate petals
your cheeks are cherry blossoms
for you, my love, i am a floraphile
you, lovely girl
are a garden
one i wish to sleep in for years
and keep a secret
from the world
you
inject your lilies
turning my veins into
clear bubblegum
i cough up flowers
at the mere sight of
you
they tell me to always stop and smell the roses
so i stop to look at you
to look at your lips
crying forget-me-nots
as i know i will never be able to pick those roses
and call them my own
believe me
believe me when i say
that if i had a flower
for every time
you tiptoed in
pale ballet slippers
in the flower beds of my mind
the dirt would no longer be visible
believe me when i tell you
that you are the most beautiful flower
i have ever laid my eyes on
your complexion
becomes the pillow
my tulip tears rest on
when my head isn’t quiet enough
your arms
the sheets
i rest my violet veils in
when the shade of anyone else
isn’t dark enough to conceal my face
you inject me
with your orchid words
your white liquid marigolds
and ivory angels
you drip from a syringe
and breathe under my skin
and i want the feeling to last forever
but they say nothing gold can ever stay, right?
so you slowly wilt
when frost coats your stem
but when i close my eyes
you’re there
you’re there
bloomed in full again like the flowers in spring
the pinks of my eyelids
replaced with the pinks on the tip of your nose
so leave me to whither, my darling
leave me wilt so you don’t have to
let me expect it
so it hurts less
leave me to sit in this bathroom
and spill petals onto the tile
be the reason for your spring cleaning
finish your dirty work in the garden
then come inside
and wash the soil from under your nails in the basin
hold and water me one last time
then deadhead my buds with golden scissors
return me to the dirt that i came from
and promise me
promise me
that you won’t let me grow again
until you begin to love me
the way i love you
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Millie Reiss is 16-years-old and has been writing
since she was eight. She attends Miami Arts
Charter school in its Creative Writing program.
Writing has grown to be her main outlet
during the most difficult times,
when it helps her try to turn her pain into art.
Millie grew up in Washington, DC, and now
lives in Miami Beach with two moms
and her two dogs, Riley and Churro.