Tell me whatever you want to tell me.
To make me believe the untruth of spoiled leaves and withered petals.
The hope of believing your golden words feels soft and true to my skin.
The caress of your water flowing from lips of of smooth texture like rivers of wine...
Makes me feel so genuine and forever under your spell.
But then the truth of your love shows me my actual broken gullible niave self..
The broken me is now healing from shattered glass that cut deep and left scars , war wounds...
I'm healing I'm healed and now false truths are not accepted into my garden of purity my garden of growing precious petals.
Healed, learned.
Better smarter.
Healed
**
J. Choice
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