4.16.12 (gardener)

i had wanted
to be a gardener,
to plant flowers
in the cracks
of your heart.
i wished to recreate
something
beautiful;
the heart in it's
most whole form
is something of
incomparable beauty.
but the sting of
regret,
the sting of
heartache,
has not allowed
the flowers
to grow,
so your heart remains
nothing more
than cracked soil.