flower girl

some see objects in the earth where I see lungs. 
eyes in the oceanic sky peering down on my 
limp overturned body.
i see golden beetles in pupils and stardust on skin,
though nobody will see me like that.

not when i have grown moss out of hair follicles and 
flowers out of fingertips.
So that i can blend into the ground.
the floating eyelids above blink to find me but now

i am breathing inside the earth. 
where footsteps and handprints on my flesh fire marks
and bruises that don’t appear in the night.
the moon is the only one who’s truly heard my cry
seen my hurt and listened to my poetry.

the shriveled-up poetry that only have
fragments of me.
tiny remnants that shout “i was here”
and although i’m almost down to dirt, 
people pick my flowers. 
and every person i’ve ever met has taken a piece a me.