What Poetry Has Taught Me

The stones on my chest

I can’t wash them away

 

The hours I walk

Cements them to stay

 

You work all the hours

Cold glasses at night

Sleep away the images

Stay blind to “what might”

 

But then

 

Poetry allows me to breathe

The ink breaks the gray

Not the ink on my skin

But from it 

This poem is about: 
Me

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