i look for signs from the universe,
such stupid things like dandelions
dotted with ladybugs,
or three rainbows in a row
on a sunday afternoon.
i hate to think
i could’ve missed the signs,
–the olives in my garden
never growing ripe,
bananas in bowls turning black–
screaming that i should stop
moulding myself into you,
i should remember
that everything will always change;
dandelions wilt, ladybugs fly
away home.
but i don't regret clipping my wings,
offering up my soul to you;
now that each feather is starting
to grow back,
and my eyes can see
beauty once again–
even the rainbow,
now fading into smoke is a sign:
the journey was ten times more beautiful
than this desert of strangers we ended up in.
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