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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Resilience
Poem Info
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I am not a flower to wither and die, but sturdy and malleable like clay.
I will get under your nails, you'll find me streaked on a cheek, dried in your hair.
I take shape, expand, can be finished to shine.
So don't place me in water, expect me to fade. I am made of more robust things than that.
If you write me a poem, skip roses and blooms.
Call me a kiln, a burned item of use.
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