black women breathe flowers, too.
just because
we are taught to grow them in the lining of our quiet (our grandmothers secret)
does not mean
we do not swelter with wild tenderness.
we soft swim.
we petal.
we scent limbs and love.
we just have been too long a garden for sharp and deadly teeth.
so we
have
grown
ourselves into
greenhouses.
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