Right Now I am sitting in the semi-dark dusk of my flat watching neighbours ride soggily home on their bikes and looking at the miniature rose plant sagging on my window-sill, hoping it will revive. This is the point from which I begin another blog, with another set of good intentions to keep it updated.
Internally you grew me,
And when I clung in the womb
Like a stubborn cat curled in a lap
And clawing at its warm cocoon,
You would not let them induce me
Because I was not ready for the world,
And you never could let me be free.
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