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Green
Sometimes I think i’m a plant
Some even say I act like the color green
I’ve never been a flower but a plant is fine
They’re strong and provide for the environment
They give their strength to stems of leaves and color
Plants will reach towards the sun,
to better grow their ends
They will give energy to the dying, sick stems,
not strong enough to stand yet folding carelessly about the side
When the leaves on my plants turn orange and brittle,
I pluck them off
They snap as if twigs and my green tree is left without her dress
She is empty and cold
But once again is fully green
I don’t water her much but I plan to pluck off the stems next week as well
I persevere what little fight it has left
and continue to let it lie in the sun
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This poem relates to burnout in life, the plant equivalent of a person.