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A propering weed
I kept quiet far too long.
I couldn't open my mouth,
it seemed, not even for a peep.
The perfect doormat.
Welcome to one and all.
Come wipe your feet.
Tolerance is that ugly sin
a cowards learns to live with
while incessant cycles repeat.
Nothing changes when nothing's said,
silence being the prime enabler.
And like a weed, shame grows
in the shadow of acceptance.
Copyright ©
Line Gauthier
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