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Uncrumpled
We all borrow the light
of others’ stories
whirling
around foolishness
Wearing masks carved
from the features
of the forgotten
We write our pages
Kneel
against the pain and spilled ink
Crumpling ourselves up
on a dark day
Memories perched between the crinkles
the tears
the rips
Our bodies our stories
bound
mended by forgiving souls
We wash our faces in colors
Painted by society’s prison
of beauty
must be thin
must be a zero
Crumpling ourselves up
fold me bend me
make me small and beautiful
We are read
judged
Stubborn fools
always wanting to change
our corners
our surfaces
With our palms
we shade the reflections
Unsatisfied
within
Crunching
cringing
at the face with the eyes
Like a deck of cards
two of a kind
“I fold”
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