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Jun 2019
She is the queen of the ocean, the outed, the plastic bag pavilion
the saint of the sand below her
sustained by faulty beams of wood and lower case letters
She is the candle-lit scene, ashamed of ugly things that roam inside her
She is pressed against your chest in rest, she is a rusted key, dropped to her knees, tending to your feet
She is the anchor in your fist, always afraid to fall asleep again, she is the stagger in the step of the witch
the orange light boasts its wings just behind her
And her loves, her loves will lead the cavalry
her loves will storm the halls, big or small, the caverns of history's birth will bleed and moan
and her loves will have returned with endless light to hold
Written by
Oli  19/Transfeminine
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