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John Destalo
Poems
Jun 2020
pain of adolescence
with sharp nails
she dug me
like I was
made of dirt
scraping away
my skin
reaching my
red drips
I stained
the carpet
abstractly
I was to be
punished
for my temper
the rage of
the rejected
the fire lit
so quickly
by the words
I heard with
my ears or
my mind
Written by
John Destalo
55/M/Harrisburg, PA
(55/M/Harrisburg, PA)
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