Wildflower

The bruises bloom
purples and red
like wildflowers
that turn my skin
into a beautiful meadow
watered
by salty tears
and seemingly forgotten
regrets.
I tell people
I am only gardening
and they smile,
nod,
forget.
But the thing about gardens
is that sometimes
they house a couple weeds
and try as I might,
I can’t keep them
from spreading.

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