Pain Weeds Out My Garden


It tickles my skin with shovels

Digging, loosening me up

Weeds torn and ripped

Thrown aside into the air

The soil is then hoed over

Made fertile

So that I may plant my own choice

Of flowers, weeds or fruit to bear


Author: Jack Bennett

Born and raised in Torquay, England. 22 years old. Teeming with thoughts that need an outlet, working a full time job at his local supermarket. Unfortunately born a poet, he will most likely suffer from this contradiction most of his life.

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