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October 9, 2019

He likes my eyes

now that they do not hide

 

I blossomed

he says

like a flower in springtime

 

And all the wasted years

fall away like leaves

blushing red upon the ground

 

How could this be wrong?

I sealed it up for far too long

Nipped the buds

with self-inflicted chill

 

How many seasons

came and went

beneath the frost

of that unending winter?

 

But as he said to me

everything has its season

to grow

 

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