I am an oak saplingSlow growthMy roots are deeper and widerThan I am highI am solidAnd tenderStrongVulnerableI will twist with the windAs I growMy branchesUnfurling in shady tesselationsOffering golden acornsTo birds and squirrelsSpring green leavesTo caterpillars and antsI need waterAnd rich earthTo growBut I can survive a droughtAndI am findingMy forest
This is a poem I don’t want to put on the Internet.This poem(Like most bad things)I will keep to myself. This Poem gives meAnxiety.I want to Fix the GrammarButI set out to writeA Bad Poem So My first IntentionIsMy Last intention. This PoemIs for all the thoughtsUnSaidThat I keep to myself This Poem isAll theI’mperfectionsThatContinue reading “This is a Bad Poem.”
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