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When I write
April 22, 2013
When I write
the little fragments that cut at me with
"no one can hear" and
"i am nameless"
fall away
and I become something clean and essential
torrential
overflowing with words, and the ink that pours onto the paper
is colorless, because
that broken sense of self, aching
to be understood
is no longer even there.
© Lashieta F., Kannapolis, NC
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