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Part One

You spouted and grew unexpectedly

behind me, around me, securing me -

I feared you held me too tightly

so I cut myself free and ran.

That didn't stop you from tripping me with your roots

knowing, hoping that I would fall right onto you.

And falling, I did.

Maybe I'm not the ocean -

maybe I'm a flower who has never before kissed the sun,

only sprouting from artifical

(I don't even like miracle-grow)

It doesn't take a miracle for me

to know that all warmness had left me

and found you.

I found you.

Suddenly my wrists were wrapped in ivy and I no longer tried to cut free -

Ivy (Part Two)

— and then the grasp loosened,

my wrists burning from the touch;

I found myself in a drought.

Where do I go from here? —

to water, to a calm heart —

Ivy wilted,

welcoming my wishes to cut free, to run —

but the farther away I went,

the more he grew without me —

the greater his leaves covered my mind.

I could never keep plants alive;

I allow them to dry up,

then attempt to preserve their beauty —

but Ivy leaves are yellowing,

Ivy is wilting.

Overwhelmed with that I don't really know,

Ivy thorns pierce the thoughts of my unrequited mind.

Ivy (finale)

My Ivy grew back this morning.

I could swear to you it was magic —

the leaves had turned golden —

I thought it was doomed to die —

but then Friday turned to Sunday

and sunlight kissed the stems —

before I could even notice,

Flowers bloomed and my wrists were no longer bare.

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