Did you know my skies always have clouds?
No, not to hide the sun,
but to give the blues a break.
And in that imperfection
lies my story.
You may curse my history
or find purchase in my changing seasons
or muse on my undefinable beauty.
But know my blossoms to be scars,
come to earth to show you can heal with burning.
And in that truth you may find my only truth,
the rest are only true stories.
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