The daily harvest of those bad days. Selected and pulled clean from my skin.
Reaching up, a mason jar removed from it’s keep.
Hard enough to reach, but simple to allow it’s fall and seeds scattered.
Storing the pickings in a delicate order of time. Enough collected,
filled with clear sterno. One day to light my quest into the source of the daily pain I still sow.
Root’s still knit themselves in my bones. Blood vessels serve as their trellis.
The crowns just under the skin, but still scab when I dig at them.
No matter what I use to mask them from the view of others, I still know
they are there waiting to sprout and the sweet fragrances of hurt for all to realize
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"Hard enough to reach, but simple to allow it’s fall and seeds scattered. "
but simple enough to allow its fall and its seeds to scatter...that seems to make more sense to me. You've got parallelism if you re-do it this way and less tense confusion. Also, no possessive apostrophe when we're talking about objects. Same for "it's keep" on the line above.
Anyway, this read very strangely. The way it was written wasn't simple and the sort of tenses and style didn't really work for me until the last two lines (which I liked). The rest seemed to be an experiment in originality that didn't quite pull off; instead you are left with a poem that if rewritten in a more "conventional" way would appeal to a greater audience. That's my opinion anyway.
Good job.