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Let them be, I'll still be me.
I am a sort of golden-yellow
Like sunshine
Like honey.
I light up
And laugh
And smile
And create
I’m a sort of golden-yellow
Taking joy from life
Always
But only sometimes.
Sometimes I’m grey
Not the soft kind, the
Hard kind
Too hard
Almost brittle
Granite
Dusty
Forgotten
Beaten down
By so many things
It’s well known
If you pressure too-hard granite
Too hard
Too long
It will
Break
Snap
Shatter
Despite your best intentions
To keep it living
It is the same with a flower
Let us
Say
A golden-
Yellow flower
Swaying softly
In the
Breeze
“Does he love me?”
All the petals
Will
Come floating
Down
The yellow petals
Plucked
One
By
One
When an
Answer
Is concluded
The flower
Now stripped of its petals
Is dropped
And crushed
Now it is no longer needed
The flowers are dying
The rest of the garden is
Turning against
Them
The flowers can be crushed
And shredded
And picked apart
But they will still be golden-yellow flowers
Maybe they will call out
For help
But nobody will come
Because nobody understands the language
Of the flowers
No one except the flowers.
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