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Oct 2018
There are rivers everywhere
many are just out of sight.
    The ground is told to be ashamed
    for the home it gives these rivers.
          Because of that
          the ground tries to hide it’s rivers.
              The ground covers its imperfections
              with anything it can.
          It covers these rivers not because they aren’t beautiful
          but because they have ravaged clean canvas.
                        If you look closely at the soil
                        you will see hundreds of these little streams.
                              They are deep in some places
                              but shallow in others.
                                   Their color can be that of blood
                                   or the color of scars not quite healed.
                                           These rivers are not just at the surface
                                           for they come from the depths of the soil.
                                                   Taking years to fully carve their place
                                                   and take a lasting toll on the ground.

                                            I am my own piece of ground
                                            with rivers flowing freely.
                                    They cover my body
                                    engrained in so many parts of me.
                         These rivers show me where I’ve been
                         and where I will go.

                My rivers have faded
                from scarlet to peach.
         My rivers are permanent
         and I struggle to find their beauty.
My rivers are seen as ugly
so I try to hide them.
         My rivers are not talked about
         because I am told they are shameful.
                 My rivers stretch across my body
                 and carve at its banks daily.
                          I have tried to dam the waters from flowing
                          but new paths just keeping appearing.
                                   Yet, through it all I have learned from my rivers
                                    that beauty comes in all forms.

My rivers are beauty
in its purest form.
I know I haven't posted in a long time so I thought I'd come back with an old poem that I love.
slr
Written by
slr  18/F/Wandering
(18/F/Wandering)   
231
     Fawn, Cné and AS
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