April 21, 2011
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If every pain we felt
were busted seems
on our quilted lives,
how do we navigate
the fabric folding over,
to repair the damage?
Do we thread a needle,
weave it in hastily,
and pull it out painfully?
Where do we find
the scissors to open
our sewed shut lips?
Are there words
locked behind them
like hidden answers
or cures?
Or are we alone
under our blankets?
Torn, beaten, and bruised.

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