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My soul, once so concentrated, has abated.
The ever constance change morphing my world as I grow.
What’s growth if not change?
One inch here, some hair there...
Suddenly the world seems at once so small
While the universe is too big to understand.
Day by day the change consumes me.
Starting as that beautiful flower, but ready to bloom
And the hurricane hits, ripping first the richest red petals on the outside of the flower,
But it still weakens the flower as a whole.
The petals inside start to die, nutrients finding other places to live,
That honest withering no one could see because the Queen had the roses colored white
So while the color was pretty, the petals were dying,
Dying, dying, dying, something always dying.
F*** death being a part of life-
And losing is a part of winning too, isn’t it?
You can lose a battle and win a war
Win a war and lose a battle
But what happens when it’s your soul that’s on the line?
When you’re fighting to grow and live
Or shrink protectively and die?
The lead paint I colored my walls with flakes
And the colors beneath it struggle with the air.
The toxins are still wafting through,
Yet the paint is chipping away.
And while I look like the tree down the street,
The old oak with big leaves and short, pretty branches standing tall, soaking sun,
I’m a small tree, thick with water, limbs severed and struggling,
Leaves turning brown in the Summer and easily drifting happily from my open arms.
They’re the brightest green on the block in the Spring, though,
So all of the pictures and memories can be of the beautiful small oak down the lane
And the wonderful white roses in the garden.
But What’s to come when the Winter abates?