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Let it dance on your tongue
like a child ballerina —
full of stutters and jumps
and hope.
As it spins circles
through your mind,
tears holes in the soles
of your shoes,
wait.
Let it fall swiftly and fast
so quiet it’s barely a whisper
if that at all.
And with no response,
let the hope fade
with a few tears
and maybe some scrapes
or bruises.
Just as the child,
pick yourself up
and walk towards the door,
allowing one glance behind you
before the soft click of it shutting
is all you can hear
and your locked up dreams
will never even know you were calling.
8/1/2021
The last line is wacky