meditation on men

You caught me meditating
but I couldn't do it
hard enough to get you out
of my sponge of a heart.

You didn't realize it meant
thorns and vines and prickly
pear feelings.

I never had much control
over my own thoughts
and listening to you
was like listening
to the last man

that caught my attention
in a crowd of bones and
skin and fat growing around my
all-encompassing waist.

Though I'll be meditating
again
on the last one
that got away or
never looked at me that
way,

my tattooed arms,
the flowers growing from
my shoulders mean
I still won't wilt.