I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
Sitting at the kitchen table,
The Beauty and the Beast soundtrack
Humming through an earbud,
My mom streaking the stars
Across my fingernails,
Her hands are cupped around
A rose,
Perfectly red petals
Curling to the center,
Where she has stored her heart;
Hate
Is ignorance:
It’s when eyes
Skim past the story of scars,
Focusing rather on the fact
They’re there;
They let the jagged curves
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