“difficulties with empathy”
i present my gift, and before i realize it,
the bouquet of flowers i picked
has become a pitchfork.
i watch in horror as my motion carries through,
and i impale someone
i say “i hope you like these”
as each of the pointed tips first meets, and then
pierces
flesh.
i have sudden clarity of memory, watching the blood
spill from a person i love
i picked a bouquet of blades
each from my garden of kind words
they looked like flowers
they looked like flowers










