stand up straight! a needed mantra for my sway back stem a tall parenthesis in a crowd of crooked I’s the spinal pain of adjusting easing with each day old roots will sprout new green can replace brown though you must water and feed your own tend to yourself the world is a poor gardener my petals in a pre-burst peak brilliant yellow and blue opal not the beige I thought they’d be fooled
by the endless budding then one morning it happens I unfold all the way and as I look at myself the sky pulls me into its arms
the welcome ones
of sunshine
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