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Kristen Weeden Feb 2013
Attached to me like a phantom limb,
Tearing from my spent body,
Sparing me little pain, my map is marked a new.

My experiences etched in the frame, the floor.
Since mere infantsy, you protected me.

I've concealed within you my deepest desires,
my churning anxieties, my burning furies,
setting fire to the curtains.

Now I explore new empty walls
carrying my echo, evidence of unfamiliarity,
And I begin to unpack.

— The End —