I’m in love with the bees and
your damp hair fresh out of the shower.

I’m interested in self-care and
think the neck needs more attention.
It holds all the weight of missing you and
I’m looking for relief.

I cry to feel better and worse
instead of writing this poem.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror unless I am crying,
and I don’t recognize myself without you.

For self-care, I breathe in deep and slow and
smoke weed and watch myself cry and paint birds and don’t paint birds.
But I’m scared that none of these calm me down like
your hand heavy on my chest.

I’m still in love with the bees and
isn’t it sweet how the trees protect you from the rain?

I have a list of the things that remind me of you:
∞