I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
Slender limbs fan out,
Parallel to the sky
Instead of reaching,
Wanting to be the open blue,
Accepting that
Though the tree will never
I’m sitting beneath a tree,
Tangled
In the roots,
My fingers gripping those
Of each soil-soaked tendril
I want to breathe
Both with looming skyscrapers,
And mountains stretched high,
To feel the sun
Smiling on my skin,
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