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She danced like a banshee —
wild, unhinged.
I watched, a bit embarrassed,
but also a bit impressed
and proud;
she did not give a ****.

He sat there,
seething.

My siblings cheered on,
I was quiet.

School tie
wrapped around her head.
Outsiders were present
to witness it.

This happened regularly —
her revenge for him
being the ruiner of
all of our lives.

She sang in his face,
leapt off of furniture,
became possessed —
unlike the rest of the time,
when she was a silent,
obedient slave
with no personality —
a nobody in his eyes.
  Apr 10 Jack Turner
Caits
Listening to him say “not her”
tickled something in my brain
to be loved is to be seen
but not in the normal sense
nah
in the perfect quirky out of breath hair in your face but still put together? Kinda quirky
as I savour another perfect bite
of Brie/rosemary/prosciutto
I’m left to wonder

why the hell not her
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