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I could fill rivers that lead into oceans

With the words

I chose not to speak.

The meaning I held back,

Like holding in hiccups,

Came bursting in anyway:

I have let moments of churning

And heaving in my stomach

Be neglected by a driving force to be sheltered,

To be touched

By something other than a poem or pain.

I know when I walk,

I won’t always cast a shadow.

Not everyone looks with their eyes,

But I notice pupils digging into my skin.

I live the life of a dandelion,

Picked up by the wind and carried away,

Thrown into the shifting of a breeze,

Taken by the new words

That I try harder to say.

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