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Lost & Found

Birds shaped like black marker curves,
Fleeting to the very corner of the page,
Cause the canson told them a little lie,
That when you run, you could escape.

So I closed the sketchbook with a thud,
And busied myself with the task at hand,
Pulling up suitcases from under the bed,
And filling them with the thoughts I banned.

And on the post card I wrote with ink,
“please ship them to a few years from now”,
When I’m the girl from a few pages ahead,
And I’m mentally ready to be the self I vowed.

And later I slept on a lighter bed,
And a clearer mind with not much to think about,
I perused the TV for an entertaining dream,
Cause the senator of my mind had nothing to figure out.

But when the sun pushed its nose though the curtains,
I peaked one eye open at everything in sight,
Still the same walls, the same stone over my chest,
And the grey halos hadn’t turned white.

I’ve aged in the sense that I now make my bed,
And tend to brush my teeth more exuberntly,
And religiously I check the pile of lost and found,
Cause in it each day I find pieces of me.

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