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Speaking Sorrow
Poems
Jul 2016
There Is No Fixing Me
I used to think
That I was too broken to be fixed.
That someone had taken the simple pieces
Of machinery
That reside in my chest
And bent the metal
And broke the cogs.
But it turns out
This is just who I am.
A drunkard with a pen.
Written by
Speaking Sorrow
23/North Carolina
(23/North Carolina)
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