What Doesn't Rot

The honey hasn’t been sweet in years,
but my teeth are still rotting.
Mama doesn’t know the half of it.
She loves everyone too hard
even if she pretends
she can’t remember their names.
I would have told you this sooner,
but the poems had other ideas.
All those love letters were talking about someone else,
and I can’t even tell you what their hands looked like.
Tell me I’m changing the world
while you’re not looking.
Tell me that’s why you turned your back on me.
It’s okay, things aren’t so lonely
once you realize your own company counts, too.
It’s okay,
the bad men stopped showing up in my dreams.
It’s okay, we are all oceans trying to forget the ones
who drowned when they loved us.
I know you’ve been renting out that body
for so long,
and it’s still not home,
but one day the lights will stop flickering.
The bees will start singing again, 
and honey will drip down every jar
like forgiveness that’s finally thicker than 


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