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Loves
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We need less old men
Tell me, am I not the only one who is sick of these damn old men deciding what women are going to do with their bodies?
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figures of the night
we sat and imagined fireflies
flitting between the tops of the RVs
as the sun disappeared into muggy,
illicit sludge. we realized we both liked
the sticky-sweet taste of summer
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For Her, I Stay
A ghost of a father.
An angry mother.
A forbidden best friend.
A suppressed love—
A suppressed identity.
Oh, how strange it is to feel alone,
while surrounded by people.
No friends.
Bitter family.