By the time I made it home, the garden had turned to weeds
And everyone who lived there was becoming unhappy.
I want to move all the snails and flip over every bug that's stuck on its back
But I'm fucking powerless and that's okay.
It's okay to ask for help sometimes.
It's okay to laugh at yourself all the time
Because even if you're the feeder of every bird in the neighborhood,
You're still a symbiotic wreck like the rest of us left here.
The slide held up to the light,
The place I never want to come back to.