Pine.

There’s a beauty to soft woods with knots that untangle
easily by chisel, easier by saw
but press a finger deep and you may even dent the surface
like talc, parading as a rock, one scratch removed from dust

No my grain is not complicated
But my heart is solid and well-made
Pleasantly understated
and I might be the wood
But you’re the lathe

No, I’m not too proud to bend to fit the space I’m given
You can cut the dovetails right into my spine
For you I would crush myself to paper
and drink up your every word like wine

No, my grain is not complicated
But my heart is solid and it is well-made
And I might be just pleasantly understated
and I might be the wood
But you’re gonna pine

I might be scraped and scarred,
but they say I’ve got a lot of character.
And I will probably fail to warm you
by the fire that you make here.
Every day I get less new but maybe more amazing,
but I promise I’m in progress
and i might be worth the waiting.

I wish I could have been born purple heart
I’d love to bleed like that
hearing everyone say how pretty
when they saw me in half
but in me’s a sweetness untapped.

You take me down when the year if over
just one more past-tense passion it’s time to put away
and all the sparkle you put on me
is boxed up for next year’s love,
next year’s tree.

And I will let you put me in a box
just as long as it is mine
one day they will bury me in a redundant skin
people are buried in me all the time.

I don’t know when I started believing
to be good you have to be defeated
so I am good but I am lonely.
I am good but I am lonely.

I tried to slip a splinter underneath your skin
when you weren’t looking.
you weren’t looking.
But I missed.