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May 4
I plant another garden; sow seeds and pips.
Dirt stains my knees and my fingertips.
I go inside, escape the all-seeing sun
and erase any trace of ***** work I've done.
I don't know why
my hands are raw and dry.
Cracking at the seams of my skin,
revealed myself to be wrist-deep in sin.
I planted my garden, but at what cost?
What flowers grow when the gardener is lost?
Do you ever wonder what your impact is?
Written by
Tatiana  23/F/earth probably
(23/F/earth probably)   
         Gideon, pen name, Fawn, Millie, Aladdin Aures H and 6 others
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