Prose Poetry – Houseplants

I murder houseplants. Not intentionally, mind you, but the result is still the same…dead flowers, dead leaves, dead roots. I’m pretty sure I’ve even killed the dirt (if that’s possible).

Regardless, for some unintelligible reason, people keep gifting the little pots of green hope to me. I swear, sometimes I’m convinced I can hear their little floral voices begging for mercy and a swift end as their tiny veins dry out and the edges of their delicate fronds curl up, eventually crinkling, splintering, and fluttering down to settle on the ceramic base below.

Over time, I’ve learned to look away from this process, as it tends to bring me down. I only wish I could grant my victims a similar solace.

Published by

marandarussell

Hi! I am an artist, author, and blogger who also happens to have Asperger’s Syndrome. I have won several awards and honors for my writings and artwork. I suffer from a few severe mental illness and chronic pain conditions (Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Fibromyalgia, CFS/ME, Ehlers Danlos, Degenerative Disc Disease, etc.), which greatly affects my life and makes me want to advocate for others going through similar things. Other interests of mine include reading, writing, drawing, watching cartoons and movies, collecting toys, hanging out with my family, and annoying my 3 cats.

13 thoughts on “Prose Poetry – Houseplants”

  1. πŸ’œ Relating SupaSoulSis; yet I AM understanding the 3DDuality of Death and Life so I Keep My Dead Mates as dried arrangements and have started purchasing cacti

    …πŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™…

    Liked by 1 person

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