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Having things figured out feels a lot less
like an answer
and more like a continual question
(every day you ask me for the date
and every day I answer differently)
I am a continual question
as I arch my back and lie in bed
like a question mark in florals
letting go of my upright nature
waiting for something straightforward
there are words I could steal to make sense
of how this feels -
but I'll make my own,
asking again what the question was
then raising my head in hopes
that what I feel is felt outside of me.

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