Joshua White

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Do you see me here pressed against this wall, legs shaking, eyes wandering? Do you know of my existence or my name at all?   Will you listen to me here for all the things I have to say and all the purpose that I seek of my ambitions every day, all the doubt I have every week?   Is there anybody out there who will stop and notice this lonely flower on the wall hoping to grow a garden instead of feeling so small?
The Way Back Home
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