Plant Baby
Compost me
I know you read the ingredients as you kissed my back
and can judge accordingly
Shovel me in little heaps and wrap me around a seed
so I’ll mean something, my decay will be a service
and I’ll use the oxygen that once emphasized how hard it was to breathe
to create something more
Roots will spurt out my belly button and hug me until
I’m no longer myself
Self-less ((service//cervix))
To serve as your next meal
I hope you like me more than your microwave chicken wings
and that the fruit I produce satisfies your hunger
I am only trying to provide because you were //
Useless
Pot me in with my pot
Then I can get high while I disintegrate for you
Swamp
tufts of moss on my skin
squelching in the wet places it likes to hide
perhaps I have a mossy heart
to pair with my misty eyes
and that place between my thighs
that no one seems to want to address
except for me
all wet, in my mess
Cel Sanel is a nonbinary femme, currently in their senior year at Boston University, who has been inspired by their teacher Leanne Hoppe to submit their work.