11/22/19
Poem:
The Questions
by Holly Winter
The wound you harbor
isn’t yours to keep,
you were only meant
to borrow it.
Dismiss the sour bits
like a wind you no longer need.
to borrow it.
Dismiss the sour bits
like a wind you no longer need.
Dance where you dwell,
where the noise is,
where the soup simmers,
where the noise is,
where the soup simmers,
where the questions
don’t have to be answered.
don’t have to be answered.
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