I have been with the moon for so long, I am no longer a visitor to her home.
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Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
moonchild
I have been with the moon for so long, I am no longer a visitor to her home.
