bougainvillea becomes me
with its shiny leaves and flamingo-tinted petals.
i feel them reaching through the cuts upon my knees;
their thorny bits
sprout from my scalp
jut from my gums,
pierce my skin,
and i think,
what did i ever do to deserve this?
but it’s the vine with its
pretty outside and
prickly insides
that deserves me, it would seem as i
tilt my neck back
and let the branches outstretch my
hand —
fingernails bitten down to the quick —
reaching for a future that only leaves me sick.
Bougainvillea
bougainvillea becomes me