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Erin
Poems
May 2017
Splinters
I stood at a closed door,
its wooden surface
looked
smooth, interrupted
by grooves,
some deep, some shallow,
barely scratches.
I carefully traced my finger
across the maze,
hoping for a solution,
but my hand came back
stinging.
Written by
Erin
26/F/NYC
(26/F/NYC)
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