handwritten text


Since it’s the last day of the year, I decided to put together my favorite potted plant drawings of the year. 

[1. Drawing of a green plant in a blue pot above a caption that says “It’s okay to live an unconventional life.” in green text.
2. Drawing of a green plant in a purple pot above a caption that says “There are many great people you have yet to meet and many great movies you have yet to see. There are fantastic things ahead!” in green text.
3. Drawing of a green plant in a purple pot next to a caption that says “You do many things that make me happy.” in handwritten purple and green text.]

I don’t have a real big sister. I have two younger siblings and we’re around the same age, so we saw each other as equals. We didn’t have a stable father figure, hell, our mother was barely stable. Taking on the role of both parents, it ruined her. Being the eldest, I feel like the youngest. Their emotional levels are balanced. One shrugs everything off, while the other is logical. Me? I’m the ill-tempered. The first one to say something, the last one to forgive. You know something that’s relaxing? Crying in the shower. I just turn on the hot water and let it out– ice cold tears, those showers warm my heart. I’m the reactive one. I’m the sensitive one. They tell you that grown men shouldn’t cry. They say crying is a sign of weakness. I once read somewhere that everything does not require a reaction– it’s a sign of maturity. I call bullshit. I do. So acting cool, calm and collected is mature? What if we’re all wrong and everyone just goes along with it? Fuck that. If it’s wrong. I’m saying something. I’d rather have anger problems than to turn a blind eye. I don’t have s big sister and you’re not much older… but you’ve always held open your hands. You’ve always opened your heart to me. I know that I can’t replace your baby brother, but I believe poetry called us together. For the days when he held onto you and disappeared… I can’t take that emptiness from you… I can’t cover your losses… I can’t revive the dead. But you know what I can do? I can love you until our memories remind you that this life– and into the next… it’s like a cracked mirror. You’re distorted and jagged. You’re broken and missing. But as long as you’re in the picture– we’ll make the broken beautiful and then missing nevermore.

| December 5, 2016 |