well, on saturday,

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February enters, almost,
with a solitary pink line
and I breathe, relieved
because I am still so seventeen.
a downward spiral from ten seconds
of mistake;
I could collapse inward on myself.
little me, still a child, really
no matter what situation life glues me to-
I was born sticky footed and I stay as such.

my steps sound muted,
suburbia in the middle of the night
does not know me,
and so I walk until it is time
to sleep.





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