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"she falls for the quiet boys
for the shy boys
with their heads tilted down
watching their feet
their hands in their pockets.
she falls for the boys with
secrets to keep
their shoulders hunched
their breathing soft
and smiles so small.
they remind her of the late-
blooming blue bells
in her grandparent’s garden.
the flowers that need
a little more water
a little bit more care
for them to grow
for them to open up.
the prospect of getting
her hands dirty,
a bit of earth on her knees
feels to her like swallowing
one bee hive after another whole.
she doesn’t mind the wind
messing up her hair,
they’re not meant to stay
still anyway, she tells herself,
the way other girls
want their’s neat and perfect.
she likes the idea
of digging deeper into him,
doesn’t mind finding nothing
at all, just wants to see
to know
and perhaps to
keep."
-MJLbecause blooming red roses die first (via mimickingmaelstroms)
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