My skin’s made of flowers,
Waiting to blossom in the shade,
Fighting the urge to turn grey,
As they look desperately for—
The summer breeze of tomorrow.
Where their petals ruffle in the wind,
Feeling cold beneath my skin,
I shiver at thought of being alive.
Ladybugs,
On the tips of my fingers—
Grasshoppers,
At the base by my roots—
My body is an ecosystem of renewal.
Glistening...
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