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Fifteen
let’s dance red lipstick onto our cupid’s bows
(I jacked it from the medicine cabinet)
and birth ourselves in somersaults
delighting in the skirmish of slimy bodies and skinny hips
years have yet to part questions from answers
our prayerful hands compromise their purity by accident
yet we find ourselves growing in angles that please the sun
here’s to the independence we don’t want to remember
so we can still pretend that no one understands us
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