If you would listen,
you would hear the
forget-me-nots that
sing in my heart.
Sometimes there
is a chorus when
the sunflowers,
gladiolas, and irises
have something to
celebrate. You
are deaf to all of it.
I am exiled to
float on a cloud
of insignificance as
you sip paltriness
distilled, using
me as your
main ingredient.
