the garden I used to visit
hedges now overgrown
old metal gate
a rusty, unforgiving welcome
I used to be able to peer over the hedge
when it was smaller,
when I was smaller
inside I would pull weeds
with dirty knees
just me and the gardener
rust gives way
knees crack,
it’s harder now
to pull weeds.
so many weeds
instead of
the flowers I’d pick
and hand out
at school, on the bus,
in the orchestra room.
unaware of the thorns
on the stems.
now I know the thorns.
too afraid to prick,
I no longer hand out flowers.
too afraid to hurt,
I don’t give.
I hurt.
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