this was not the summer of love
nothing is loving about people dropping dead
flies found stuck on an old piece of tape
forgotten from seventh grade

sure, maybe self-love played a part
all throughout these past three months
focusing on the beautiful parts of life
was a venture not completely failed

but it’s okay, because at the end
I’m still alive, still breathing
my feet planted firmly at the top of the hill
maybe they’ll take root

maybe I am artwork
maybe that’s why people keep staring at me
but so far, nobody’s pinned me to the walls
keep your hormones out of my art gallery


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