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The Misanthrope

by Annie Hendrix

Maybe I’ll spill over with love.
Poppies open up,
seed pods burst and give without end
so I will too.

Maybe I’ll learn love green as a child’s,
sweet as spring is soft and wild,
hot as summer is dry and blue.

Maybe my love
doesn’t break things beyond repair,
but catalyzes change;
flowers bloom everywhere.

Thanks for reading!

Misanthrope: A Collection of Poems is coming Friday, February 13th, 2026! Join me for weekly poetry, fiction, and the occasional sound experiment:

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