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I was never a thorny bush,
nor an exotic orchid
for you to study
and characterize.
I let myself be groomed
into a creeper - clung to your walls.
I spanned air, straddled rains,
sprawled in searing sun -
sapped from depths
the elements of a brackish earth.
For poetry's sake I harbored questions;
in poetry's faith harvested pain.
I wonder if you could at all read
O learned one
the candid words
that bloomed
from each of its wilted flowers.
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