Orlando shooting orlando slam
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curling fingers grasp cold hands
tears swim in eyes
forming oceans of sorrow in some
furious thunderstorms in others
yellow paint marked her summer dress
dark blue stars dotted his button-up
When I was ten years old, I was hunting mushrooms with my father. There were landings in the trees and I thought it was bird watching, but my father informed it that it was used to spot deer.
My history is written between the lines.You see, I come from a long line of keep your head down, do not tell them what you are.
Orlando,
tomorrow is forming
no more as we pretended
mourning informed by scores
our innocence ended
sinisterly splintered bodies