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in one sitting before quitting
How much can the sun shine before
it turns dusk?
How much can the baby cry before
it learns trust?
How much can the rose bloom
before it withers on the vine?
How much can I pen?
There’s always another line
We were before
The same place we’ve been a hundred times
But who’s counting
The same place that gets us into trouble
Haven’t we learned
We keep repeating the same old familiar patterns
Sometimes I think it’s just a distraction
And although it does us no good
There’s something very comforting about it
We can’t seem to live without
But we’ll never grow from the same *** of spoiled soil
And we’ll never flourish in the shadow of yesterday’s mistakes
Here we are again –
Back in the same place
of choices to decide
which is the right one for you. There’s
so much to choose. A lifetime
of trials and wiles of the young. A

lifetime of making mistakes, having
things go awry. And then brushing it
off to the side. It takes a lifetime of hard
work and sacrifice. And still there’s no

guarantee what you do will suffice. It takes
a lifetime of heartache and angst to carry the
past in your head, not to make it form who you
are, but to become someone better instead.
dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.
that can be swept up or carried
away by the wind. And I’m more than
the body I’m in. I’m spirit of earth and
fire. I won’t stay where I am. I’m

going higher. I haven’t reached the place
where instead of the sun on my face I am
the light. And that light burns inside. And
radiates from my eyes. My eyes are candles

that glow from everything beautiful. A
kaleidoscope of fractured pieces comes together
and releases a translucent window that dances
in the shadows. I never will be hollowed as long

as I am followed. That’s where you’ll find me –
I’ll come up as poison ivy and ooze out of
your pores. That’s how I want to be remembered,
before the first frost of November.
that can be swept up or carried
away by the wind. And I’m more than
the body I’m in. I’m spirit of earth and
fire. I won’t stay where I am. I’m

going higher. I haven’t reached the place
where instead of the sun on my face I am
the light. And that light burns inside. And
radiates from my eyes. My eyes are candles

that glow from everything beautiful. A
kaleidoscope of fractured pieces comes together
and releases a translucent window that dances
in the shadows. I never will be hollowed as long

as I am followed. That’s where you’ll find me –
I’ll come up as poison ivy and ooze out of
your pores. That’s how I want to be remembered,
before the first frost of November.
if I can’t save me from
myself? If I haven’t the strength
to go on who will hold me up
when I’m about to fall

down? Who will grab the razor
from whence my hand it came? Who
will take the blame for all the shame of
my past? Who will cut the rope

around my neck before I strangle
myself to death? Who will take the bottle
of poison before I empty it out come
morning? Who will hold me in their

arms when I’ve shattered in pieces so
small that they fall off as flakes of dandruff
and are carried away with the wind? Who will
absolve me of all my sin?
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