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Monday, Jun 24, 2024


at 22, i am caught

between make-believe and my

new beliefs because

playing with the dog is easier

than dressing me in a pre-

pubescent silhouette.

for both of us

sometimes, i invite her in

hide my shock at the desert cracks above

her brow and the silver

in her soft baby hair

i pull her a seat up at the table

her flesh spills over the sides of the chair until

it doesn’t

and she is the sole string of a violin

brakes screaming on the commuter line

we hoot and holler at her as if

we could possibly out-scream her

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and then she is a weeping puddle of

blubber and i am a swallowed stone of guilt

pulled back against the leather strap


sometimes, i don’t

and silence is a howling barricade

at our front door

my heart is dressed in a

school girl’s uniform

and peace

my pyrrhic anthem