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She grew twisted

Not like the others

Wrapped up in herself

Her stalks poked out


A weed in a flower bed

And on the nights where her brown field was dry and forgotten

As the plastic rake combed through her bush

They’d remind me

Why I couldn’t keep her

So I spread white fertilizer to kill her roots

And there she lay



Finally beautiful.

The rain danced on her

But she didn’t wiggle

To the beat of the drops on her branches like she used to.

But she drew crowds when they burned her.

And where they saw Phoenixes

I saw cremation.

But I still lay her

At the edges of the field.

And she stayed limp.


Time passed and even I forgot to mourn her.

Then one summer as I looked at the glass window

I saw her

For the first time

I saw her

She was just a small bud

But she twirled to her own rhythm

And her stalks bounced in the winds of a lifeless field.



A flower in a bed of weeds.


15 thoughts on “Growth

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