Bare greens.

I see a hole in this wall in the backyard, I grew up in.
Coming about around flowers, I knew nothing of the dead weed on the other side of the wall.
Peeking, I see nothing but a long, empty road. So bare, I can run and not crash, for once.
So used to breaking things when I tried to run too fast, I wander off into fantasies.
The desolate street outside, queer why I fancy it unlike everything on this side.

I climb one day and fall right onto the weed.
The bruises and scrapes only assure me of my capability of hurt.
I walked and walked ahead but stop and turn around to see the wall.
The trees on that side now turning brown, the leaves started to fall off.

The ground beneath my feet started to bear greens.
Twinkling, I walk into the sunset, certain of all my might for the very first time.

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Heal.

I am not a poet but I do wish to write.
I cannot rhyme but I hope I find a rhythm.
I seek no attention though I want to turn some heads;
like the time I lost a feather and they broke both my wings.

I learnt to sprint as time went by.
Who knew, with feet on the ground, it’s easier touching the sky.

I too used to think, I’ll never again be whole,
but falling apart truly, truly heals the soul.