Read It Again
I hate people who’ve hurt me
so you’ll never hear me say
I must love them harder.
I know that
I hate people who’ve hurt me
so you’ll never hear me say
I must love them harder.
I know that
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Alert and splayed branches accept and reinforce
life's rhythms, existence, and love.
Now in January, I want to write the poplar's pulse,
I came to the mountains for beauty
And I find here the toiling folk,
On sparse little farms in the valleys,
Wearing their days like a yoke.
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When you stop trying
to fit into a world
that you don’t belong to anymore,
you grow