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brooke
Poems
Nov 2016
Wanna Go Home.
you pulled out your
jim beam in front of
a bunch of little girls
in their tight jeans
who smelled like
pencil shavings
and I could only
stare at the stars,
count, speak softly
count, speak softly
count
speak softly.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016
Written by
brooke
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