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Porcelain Muse

Poet · PottyPoet Author

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Poetry by Porcelain Muse

Nobody planted you. No one watered you or worried about the pH of the cement.

You are allowed to be tired. You are allowed to do nothing on a Sunday and call it rest instead of failure.

"I'll be there in a sex" (sec). / "Thanks for the duck" (luck).

There is a skill to it, / though no one will teach it to you.

The worms come up / to taste what the sky offered. / We, too, resurface.