I Have this Garden of Poems








full of flowers that bloom
at first
and then carried away with my greenthumb
i planted everything
trees and more trees and shrubs and bamboos
and vines and hanging plants

almost everything
and so the blooming flowers died
and the grasses diminishing like some
hair of this baldness

but nothing is lost in this garden of poems
the birds came and built their nests
some are still coming
every morning
and then the chirping begins





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Different


How are we so "different"?
If "different" is just a thing.
If we all have certain features,
What does "different" bring?

People filled with hatred,
Can't possibly see,
That there's not really "differences"
Between you and me.

Looks can't show "difference",
If they're just there to be seen.
If you don't look like someone else,
Why are they so mean?

If being "different" is what is wrong,
I'd rather not be right.
And I'd want to finish living,
Doing the "different" fight.

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