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Apr 2015
I Used To Be an Optimistic

Believing everything was black and white.
It was the first summer in our new
I was six or seven
My Father needed help in the lawn so feeling
in a helping mood, I went out.
His hands were in the dirt and his forehead
was bronzed.
He waved his arm at a small,
Delicate flower.
Go pull weeds.
Not one to question him while, he was busy,
I went over to inspect the flower- i mean ****
How could something so tiny, even more do than my hands,
be considered a ****?

My tiny mind thought weeds were
dark green and barley clinging
to life, with thorns that sliced at
other helpless plants and animals.
Almost like bad people.

I imagine it was then that
My small mind had begun
to grasp
at the idea that plants and people alike
could deceive you.
My first poem I've posted.
Harly A Quinn
Written by
Harly A Quinn
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