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Biographical Poem #1: Paper


They met at a point-
The stark white window sill
And an angry navy sky
Raindrops beat on impartial glass
I saw my blandness reflected there
The drops composed
Of a billion atoms each
Mirroring the cloud that sent them forth
In coming from all over the planet
And then from all over the solar system
And then from all over the universe
They had travelled for years
For miles that seemed like minutes
But to me- as I was born counting
The rings that betrayed every year I lived-
It was sad that the drops landed
So close and yet so far away

I had no limbs, no justification
For wanting stories written down on me
I could be crumbled with scratched letters
In a bin, condemned to dust
I could have scrawled upon me in big bold letters
‘Slut’, ‘Whore’, ‘You piece of shit’
Nobody would bat an eyelid
And I would burn in the closest fire

They don’t know it
All I want is a little bit of the magic
If I could touch the raindrops without
Turning to soggy pulp
Something would be returned to me
Of the pain I bore when the axe drove through
And my mother tree collapsed in naked shrieks
That no one heard but me

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