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Jan 8
the wind is blowing
but the world is still
when you laugh
the hurt in my heart
grows flowers in the cracks
I can feel you try to mend me
as I re-write the memories
but it is your sweet nectar
that keeps sticking to me
as I endlessly try to
wash myself clean
of all I was tied to

and I look back at those places
that once felt like safe spaces
and I feel weak in the knees
for not being brave enough
to open my eyes and see
that you never were
what you promised you'd be
I had made up this story
told it so well

and dressed it up in me

and now that you're gone
I spend my nights
******* the ache
of the never-ending
echo of the child
I never got to name

yet for you,
it's nothing more than a story
an "almost, what-if, thank-goodness"
kinda thing

and that is why
it is always the mother
who carries the weight
who has to bleed

a power I have embodied the best
ever since you decided to leave
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