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He left and I still see him.
He was what I am.
His smiles became my memory,
His frowns my burden.
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He looked me in the eye
And said, “Now.”
I sat on the floor.
I always sat on the floor.
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I swallowed love
Laced with knives
And every day,
It killed me harder.
But the last thing
I would eve..
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I fucked him silly.
Pulled his manliness out
From his young age,
And shoved it inside me,
Dirty, nasty.
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What if I wrote you
A poem.
No stanzas,
No rhyming,
From the last white page
Of my notebook.
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The said that I could have been
A boxer.
“Natural talent” they told me.
But there was always
One, or two, or three
Better
Than me.
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His eyes twinkled
When he recalled
The events of
“Oh, you know that war?”
That war.
Which he never even fought.
God bless his soul.
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Little girl,
She held my hand.
One, two, three fingers
Wrapped around my thumb
One more and you’re safe.
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In the dead of the night,
Nothing was expected of you,
Aside from whiskey shots,
And cheap, cold laughs-
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