Messy bitch, I mean Vanessa, I mean, Haworthia cymbiformis
AKA Cathedral Window
also known as a portal, an aperture, la finestra  

in the tower or edifice or hall of my succulent transformation  

If you ask me what kind of animal I want to be, I will say
every time. I mean, occasionally.  I mean, if I answer the question at all.
AKA, I want to dig my toes so deep into the soil that they form roots an talk to the worms.
Also known as, *ew, that’s weird*, *you’re not playing the game right*, *get it together*  

Messy bitch has it all the way together.
Her throne is a pot
on a windowsill in a spot
that she picked, not
She sits on her splay of tangled moss and radiant contemplation.
Her roots grow and crackle and cackle at the jokes the dirt knows  

She does not spend a second
worried that her disarray does anything less than add beauty
& Value.  

She doesn’t care to be called Vanessa.  

She does not worry, the way I do, that her name is too profane.   S
he knows it’s all sacred.
The moss.  The soil. And the light.  

When you ask her what type of animal she would be, you can’t hear the sigh But it’s there.
Just out of reach. It says, “if you could be
why the fuck would you be anyone else?”