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whisper tray

Photo by Sam Jean from Pexels

sometimes I wonder where the person is
under your ironic little smile
somewhere, maybe a few layers deep,
I might find your well of sorrow…
I see you wrestling with
a, a, b, a, a, a, b, c
I see you waiting for your
I see your broken, brittle
and I hear a million weighted sighs
…grief is native…
in this crude genetic garbage
go ahead,
delay the bleed, this thoughtful session
of emotional withdrawal —
it flies in the face of…



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