You would have loved me a few months back;
Wounded, needy, with nothing intact.
I would have been your perfect flower -
Dug up, uprooted, stripped of all my power.
Held in a vase, drowning on display,
Starved, hollow and withering away.
But now I'm being planted, my roots take hold.
Regaining strength, I've never been so bold.
No longer ashamed, these scars I will show.
For I am a seedling and I'll continue to grow
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