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Tattered wings, edges of a storm that ripped you to shreds

Yet, there you are, feeding off the Echinacea

You didn’t pause to tell me your story

There was no moment of commiserating

You went about your beautiful day

Without apologizing for not being perfect

Without seducing me into sympathizing

As if nothing had happened last night

Torn in the wind, thrown around

I can only imagine how that felt

Yet there you were, calling me from my car

Come see me

Come see me

I’m still beautiful

Yes I AM


Photos of a butterfly with torn wings in Mamma Mia’s garden

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