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the lines

I lost my definition
my boundaries have blurred
I fight wars of attrition
my cries will go unheard

it’s hard to heal the gashes
when you’re just a quilt
my mass is made of patches
my core is stitched in guilt

i turn the graves of martyrs
to smell their holy rot
the fumes invoke bitter tears
and I wipe my nose of snot

as a kid i talked to outcasts
i spoke with ghosts and dogs and
the abandoned of the past

dogs speak in looks, ghosts in whispers
the forgotten share their woes
tell tales of when they were masters
show you how a flower grows

and the masters of today
they’re the ones who force the rhyme
they don’t stop or stay
they just take a moment,
your soul,
and eternity in your mind.

your damage has defined me
the scars outline my shape
my birth stars are aligning
and I survived the rhyming
though you still have the tape

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3 Comments

    • C C

      nice pick. mine is petrichor, because it’s also my favorite smell, and that smell evokes my favorite emotion.

      • Haven’t heard that before! Thanks for sharing, will def look into it.

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