The CenterA Poem by Abigale LeCavalierThe Center Not unlike holding water for extended periods of time, missing comfort absolutely.
A torture set aside for those “exceptional,” meaning; not like a woman stirring elbow macaroni, it’s a sense of belonging granted to most.
But not all.
And watching this while the blood is being drawn, regulated in centers downtown, the ones no one talks about, bet everyone knows where the front door is.
If only “understanding” held meaning, and the air smelled like roses instead if antiseptic, it may feel a bit more normal.
A feeling the “exceptional” will never have, and maybe never really want too. © 2010 Abigale LeCavalier |
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Added on February 27, 2010Last Updated on August 30, 2010 Author
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