weeds

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the ground is soft after a storm

prime for pulling weeds that don’t belong

it strikes me as i kneel at my flower bed

hands in dirt, removing weeds

the flower bed is like my heart

a storm has raged

anger, bitterness tried to take root

sadness an depression followed suit

pulling them like weeds

making room for love and joy to bloom

the ground is soft after a storm

some weeds more stubborn

leave my hands covered in dirt

and making marks on delicate fingers

just like the weeds inside my heart

some hurts are more deeply rooted

and yet, all weeds must go

if the flowers i want to grow

~Rachel E. Brown: July 9,2013~

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