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A Pot of Dirt
We rape the mind and pillage the souls of others,
Trying to uncover the graves in which they bury their secrets,
Looking for the knife that will cut them down,
Not realizing they are resilient.
They will keep growing towards the light,
Away from the sin cemented in our hands
No matter the darkness we put in their way.
Yet still we dig down to grasp their roots,
Seeking to expose and fast on their vulnerability,
Desperate to plunder even the smallest twig.
And when we have torn up everything that matters;
Molested each and every insecurity—
And kept only the violated remnants of love
They will die and whither.
We have crassly torn apart the heart—
Of one who only wanted to get to know light
And in return have a pot of dirt and a wilted sunflower.
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