Lost in your fate, you give
everything up with a sigh.
You claim that the damage
is done without noticing
the medicine in your palm.

It tastes like bitterness, but
you swallow it with the hope that
your scars sew themselves up.
Little do you know, the cure lies not
in the bottle but in your decision
to change for the better.

It lies in the acknowledgment
that fate is ever-changing,
that it shapes itself into an identity
that never stops growing.

So grow proudly.
Spread your leaves like
the wings they truly are.


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