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Chlorine Promises to Myself

By
When everything smells the exact same way it did last summer
But everything is different.
I’m looking forward to wearing lipstick that’s fire engine red,
Canceling plans with friends for a few hours of minimum wage,
And lying about my age so I can put toxins in my body.
Behind me,
The diluted sunlight passing though the pollen-stained pane of glass is falling squarely onto the chemical-coated dry wall.
It’s illuminating it to a fire engine red.

It looks like hope.





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