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.