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The ugly little cakes we make to celebrate the most perfect fact that someone we love exists for yet another year, affection baked into the stodgy center. The ugly little homemade presents, the poorly knitted scarves and lopsided cups from a beginner pottery class, the tangles of badly wire-wrapped rocks from river beds we kissed at, bulky embroidery lumped across the collar of a thrifted shirt. Stupid hand-drawn coupons for silly dates, hearts scribbled around the corner, a cute and messy yearning. Scraggly houseplant clippings exchanged in scrubbed jam jars filled with browning water or quickly potted in a chipped mug. Crocheted hats too small for your head, that big brain filled with bigger thoughts, fermented cider from apples picked by hand, too much carbonation, an ugly little bottle of devotion exploding in your cupboard, a drenching tenderness.
All my best gifts are these ugly little things,
the things that mean the most,
the things that say -
For you, I tried something new.
For you, I tried something hard.
For you, I am humbled.
For you, my love muscles will always be flexing.
For you,
I strive to create something
out of nothing
because you
deserve
everything.