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Loves
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tribute to emily dickinson
they have taken her.
hope.
she is trapped in the great big house made of new money & keys
that open nothing anymore. it is named america.
you can hear her,
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Cliché
We are such a cliché,
boy meets girl,
fall hard and fast.
Our heads are a mess,
would you wait for me?
Obviously.
Too young to think anything through,
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Camp
I’ve been going to a camp called Crow's Path since third grade.
And even longer before that, but I can’t remember those days.
People have come and gone, yes, that’s true, -
apple
i'll use your name. sweet nothings spill
from well-meaning mouths & shatter on concrete radiating summer sun
right back at you, perfect -- dainty -- shiny with dewdrops. they told me
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