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Last December
June 23, 2013
A bird stood picking
At my flesh,
Leaving it here and there
For vultures to feed.
It pecked and pecked
Until I had no more arms and no more legs
A useless potatoe with a beating heart
I had nothing left so I gave the bird my soul
Thinking somehow it might make me whole
But the bird looked at me and told me it was meant to fly
And left my empty shell here to die.
© Brooke S., Indianapolis, IN
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