lacking a vase (bonus poem)

lacking a vase, I put them in a peanut jar.

as one who used to live with clay under my fingernails,
this fact was somewhat bemusing,
and slightly depressing--these deserve a better fate,
but the clear plastic lets me better see
the lovely magenta
that the stems have turned the water
(and my hands)

I always said I would dye my hair that colour
when a chemistry concoction mixed up like that.
it was a crazy thing to say, but so natural,
commonplace
the three times I actually did.

distractions.



This doesn't change anything.
I can't do this anymore.

the suffocation of trying so hard to change myself
does nothing but hurt
and make me blame you for that pain.
And no amount of wishing
has ever given me wings; why should I have expected it to work
    this time.

        Because I wanted it more?


but then again,
this arrangement of spring reminds me
that I've been painting you the wrong colour in my mind.

you are more like these bright flowers,
but caught in carefully molded clay;
unfired, still working out your form,
and waiting for someone to see through, to turn your sides
clear plastic and reveal your hidden heart.

because as much as it kills me,
all of this has been dizzy perfection
meant for some lucky girl
who isn't me.




    I think I liked pretending too much.
for both of our sakes.