I am not broken

I am not broken.

When the trees move,

with the wind, waiting

for the storm brewing in my head.

Knowing that I am not broken. The trees break easily

when the wind throws them back and forth, pushing them

with words of hate, that break off branches.

Seeming like, this is the end.

Nature finds a way to

regrow from the pain.


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open your mind to something great, that is standing right in front of you, let you legs lead you through the threshold, and take another step, close your eyes and jump.

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my body is warming from the inside out forming to hot homemade chicken soup my parents always make this time of year. The leaves change the nights become longer— and my mind becomes darker, pining for


evolving and changing, like a human growing from its ancestors. picking away at the parts of me— I never really liked. shaping myself into someone I don't recognize, learning— it's okay to be me.

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