i wanted to plant
wildflowers
in the rolled cuffs of my jeans
so that i could give them to sad people
when they needed a dandelion

but you told me that
the world
doesn't operate via soiled denim
and the roots of weeds

'there's plenty of time to save the world'

my horizon split apart
chromosome style
and i planted flowers for all the stargazers
calling mushroom clouds beautiful

you called my soul beautiful
and foolish
said flowers can't grow in the sad corners
of people's hollow hearts
long enough
to make a difference

i don't think you've ever seen a ballet

they say not to pick flowers
when you love them
because they'll die
but everything is dying anyways

dying a certain collage of
moments
sooner
to make life more beautiful
doesn't seem like the worst
fate

'there's plenty of time to save the world'