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paper boats

there’s a spot under my tongue that burns. i think endlessly of broken glass; dodge it in my dreams and imagine it in maths. i wrote this poem on my hand originally, but it washed off in the sleet, leaving behind smudges and smiles.

i write it on paper now. i will make it into a boat and leave it in the snow.

just like broken glass, the snow reflects everything i am and i am forced to view myself truthfully.

i find everything in winter; unconditional love and warmth; beginnings and endings.

the nights are long and graceful and i speak to the stars again - blush secretly at their jokes and catch them up on my life and how me i am these days.

the long nights are accompanied by a bright moon; the moon has meant so much all these years. these days it is a friend and a part of me.

there is no beginning to the sky and no ending to me. there is no me, no innocence and no desire.

only existence.

the snow crunches under my feet and melts in my hands.

i make paper boats and gift them with no rhyme or reason. i do not rhyme in my poems.

once, i made paper boats to let go of my pain. i’m on my happy boat now.

i do not rhyme in my poems.

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