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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#439231voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Levels of hospitably. My father’s arms are often closed like a bodyguard, cold and focused. And me, my arms. They’re far too young to understand the kindness and understanding it...
Levels of hospitably. My father’s arms are often closed like a bodyguard, cold and focused. And me, my arms. They’re far too young to understand the kindness and understanding it...
