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Dear Pom

I left you alone. Simmering. Way too long. Remember how we both got heated? I didn’t think we would repair or recover. I was wrong. You’re still as resilient and beautiful as you’ve always been.


With love, Mom



All Yours (a weed poem)

asking someone else to pull your weeds takes away the seeing of how shallow those roots are temporary and unrestrained taking up space...

 
 
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