Rosy Grave
I have paid the monthly installments,
the exact amount on time, without fail,
for the services of my heart to move faster,
rid of the past once and for all—
no fuss, no loose ends.
Please nourish the freshly overturned soil.
With loving hands, pat the ground and plant colorful flowers.
Make it untraceable, the fact that bodies were rotting underneath.
What was once plain, now ugly,
to be transformed into something better—
more beautiful than it was before.
So by the time a new person comes in,
who I always desperately hope is The Person,
they would enter my grave of heartbreak,
and instead of seeing death and pain,
see how strong I am.
And embrace me in love and apology:
"Sorry, I was so late. I love you."
But why is it that when all seems peaceful,
done and over with,
no trace of what this place once was,
as I wait for my new person to come into my beautiful garden—
do the hands of lovers past strike up
and disturb the ground once more?
I buried you.
I prayed for you.
Sang songs for you.
Helped you leave with grace.
Why do you keep reaching out for me,
waking up from your eternal sleep,
defying death?
"Just fucking stay dead!"
I scream as I stomp on your hands,
tears falling, watching the carefully planted flowers on top of you
fall, flatten, and brown under each step.
"This grave was supposed to be perfect.
I had a vision. A plan on how everything should look.
You’ve broken my heart, and I made it better instead—
why won’t you leave me alone, you soulless dead?"