i used to have these lumps on my chest, and everyone
assured me they were normal. but i knew from the moment
they started sprouting up that someday i would have to weed
them out the way i used to help my father weed the garden;
i would have to use all of my strength, trying to pull up the
roots of everything that has kept me locked into the ground,
of everything that has kept me stealing nutrients from the
people around me.

i used to plant seeds in the minds of girls at daycare when i
promised to marry them. we'd make plans for twenty years
in the future; i guess i was always a dreamer. they told me
it would never work out, though, because someday we would
both have lumps on our chests but i assured them the lumps
in our throats would be the real problem. they didn't know
what i meant, and i suppose i wasn't sure either, but they
were the only words that didn't feel like lies.

and now, an entire person later, your fingers are tracing the
scars where i have been sewn shut. i have felt the purging of
a life too well worn, but the tips of your hands are starting to
paint on my new skin, and it's finally beginning to feel like
we're creating a garden again.
Last edited by Cyclones41 at Jan 22, 2015,