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They Don't See

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I am confused
to the edge of breaking,
like the edge of
sand against
an ocean tide,
as to why
no one sees
what I see.
They never notice
their precious gossip
or their best friend
or their childhood doll
in poetry,
like I do.
They don't try.
They don't try.
They never get
how words can see inside of people
or how,
after awhile,
you feel full,
like after dinner,
but not with casserole,
with language.




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