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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