The flowers that I can not grow

(they’re pressed between book pages somewhere)

The porcelain vase that cracked in the kiln

(i have it on a shelf, the lavender glaze is still my favorite)

The songs I will never finish writing

(i wish i passed my music theory exam)

The shoelaces that I can never tie properly

(i often run with them undone)
The shattered jar of jasmine syrup I dropped on my foot
(it looked somehow celestial in the 5 o’clock light)
The pictures that I can never paint
(i can never mix the right colors, my hands are always shaking)
The words that will never be said

(my poems sounds better onpaper)
The notes I can never sing

(I wish I wasn’t tone deaf)
The fear of disturbing what has already been cultivated
(i wonder how much love in this world hides behind silence)