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ink it
April 30, 2018
The anger seeps through my veins
As if it were ink on ivory white paper.
Bleeding through, it ruins everything:
The table, my hands.
Smearing is the trace of my anger.
I can’t control it because I’m insecure.
I told you that I have issues
So why did you make them worse?
I can’t love myself because
The anger makes me unpretty.
© Hadley B., Marblehead, MA
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