Authentic Plant.

New life.

Plants. Flowers. Drying in a mason jar.

This ones green, and this, hints of brown.

Drying leaves.

Leaves drooping. Leaves growing.

This one is small.

These live together in a big jar.

This one from my past life, the biggest of them all.

The others, their first birthday. Others didn’t make it this far.

One speaks of my shame, couldn’t keep it alive.

Do they look like hers? Oh no.

The drooping leaves much like my soul as I compare. Myself to her. That plant to that.

I can get new ones, What if I kill them all.

Failure. Resilient. I try to mother them well.

Too much water. Too little. Not enough sun? Too much?

Maybe its all too much. The fake one looks nice.

Maybe thats how I want to be seen.

Polished. Just the right color. And the perfect pot.

I fit in no matter where I go.

Oh, wait. Those authentic ones can tell the difference.

Where do I belong?

Those dying leaves on the ground.

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