Day 22
I've got this friend, she's a fraught orchid
With bright ideas, pushing up leaves but
Neglecting what's grown, bending brown
Where the day doesn't look.
Beseeching the ceiling for hidden meaning
Squirming the pot like a too-small shoe
Shooting roots, weird eruptions
Grasping at air, forever tangential
Thirsting to travel, finding herself
Ever at the window, frail faces turned
To the lane out of here and the green, green, green
If she ever makes it, she'll steal the show
But I won't be there to shrug and say
To me, you always were the headline
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