as the heart withers
like a cut rose,
days old,
the adult in me grows stronger,
builds the muscles I wear like a bear hide,
wears the callouses on my dirty-nailed hands.
so stands the brown and broken-necked sunflowers,
seeds pecked out like eyes
by the crows of these grey skies,
so stand I, roots screwed in place,
back bent like a bow,
my head hurting from the effort to look up.
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