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Tuesday, March 29, 2022

Chimera

I have no indeed charms. Admittedly.

No gold medal comb tin go through

This mane. My skin is not translucent.

Mine is a tail to fear. I know.

And though a mother may destroy,

She excessively sees suitable to create beauty

That would eventually grow into forms

I would swallow if I gave in

To my hungers. But, up from my wounds—

From this goat's body—

Up from my wood-smoke lungs, from

The milk of me, comes a song, a melody

To not shut yours, at that hour dated lick them clean.

#Living #Life Choices #Social Commentaries #Gender & Sexuality

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