where the grass is flowing
moaning in the wind and it
flows down the hill into me no you
are not allowed here into my being
that i am creating on my own out of
the wounds inflicted by your
forked tongue that hammered my spirit
plying it till there were wisps
of whispers calling
to bring me back to life to show
that i am responsible for my own spirit
that you cannot defeat it
or bend it unless i allow you to
you are no longer
holding out hate in
that will no longer dip
my life….

Want to tell me something? Tell me here!

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