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and i don't know what to say
when spring brushes the dust
off my cranium,
and asks if i'd like a chance
Black Lives Matter.
Stop Asian Hate.
Driving on a dirt road,
the sun, a brazen signal...
I used to prefer
I don't know how many shots of vodka
I've had, definitely more than two, clear liquid...
I'm tired of people calling me "sad",
using it as an excuse to get too close...
I first saw them at the
bottom of the mountain, consulting...
Ink is my testimony; I pour it out and watch it bubble then boil until it burns my fingertips.
"Ready for warfare?", my mind antagonizes.
"I wasn't created for battlefields", my heart insists.
My heart is sick with grenades.