My days

I am a Trojan horse, a bruised petal. Lucky, unlucky. Helpless, empowered. I feel the poison tingle in my veins.

I’m as light as a feather, but as heavy as the mountain I tread upon. My days so long, as my life seems so short. Too tired to have shame, yet when I have the strength I blush.

Surprised by my own see-saw of emotion. I keep on keeping on. My spirit almost seems brighter from this dark place I reside. In the shadows a light can grow, from a seed, a spirit rendered clean and pure of intention and revolt.

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