Building a Garden

We can choose what to let into and what to remove from the garden of our psyche.

I may look like I’m sitting next to you,

but that’s just a storefront.

My soul is in a garden, identifying

the weeds that slip out your mouth,

fissuring fresh beds of Hope

planted only yesterday,

Seedlings starving for tenderness

after decades of living

without a gate,

so, the gusts

and storms of

others,

trampled and

scorched the clay

temporarily housing me.

So yes,

I may look like I’m listening,

but your words

taste like rotten apples,

as I lovingly

remove them

from my garden