Pity Not The Scars

Abandoned, this heart –
old walls scarred but solid

Lest you look upon me with pity,
remember – roses grow here

planted at the peak of love’s hold
vibrant despite the ensuing thorns.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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