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We are the weeds

I feel sane in a mad world
How I wish to be mad like the others
I want to hide under the covers
And pretend I am free
 
My logic is chaotic here
Where fear is power and kindness is rare
I have no place in such a place
This is the torment I face
 
I feel myself become distant
I want no association with this tyrant
I want no ties to dead environments
I want to thrive to not feel guilt for being alive
 
Because I do
Its either there’s no food
Or there’s no room
But I have both
And so many don’t
 
Our lives and our meanings
Have become assets of greed
we are no longer the gardeners
we are the weeds
Other works by Sarah Muldoon...



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