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Tight Grip

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The soft grass tickled my legs,
While the damp earth got stuck between my toes.
My pink dress fluttered as I ran against the wind.
The land beyond my house was mine to discover,
It spread out before my eyes like an unfurling map.

Stopping in the middle, I noticed newly grown flowers.
Wrapping my pudgy fingers around the closest one,
I yanked out of the ground.
The force made me tumble onto the ground,
But I was pleased with my catch,
A tiny indigo flower leveled with my eyes.

Inside my house,
My flower was placed in a small cup of water.
The glass sparkled as I set it in the window towards the sun.
I could not help but stroke its smooth petals,
That felt so cool and wonderful against my fingers.

A day or two went by and I almost forgot about my flower.
It still stood by the window, yet it no longer stood tall.
It drooped downwards,
Lower and lower in the passage of time.
The vibrancy of its leaves dimmed and blackened.
Its soft petals became stiff and frail,
They curled inwards, and then fell.

The flower I once held was a shadow of its former self.
My love and appreciation for its beauty did not nurture it,
I only shortened the life it could have had out in my backyard.
A life that was not sheltered and safe,
But it would have allowed it to bask in the sun amongst its brothers.

Perhaps I had smothered its potential with my love.





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