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Dec 2013
When I rose up,
Everything was crisp hard edges and lonely echoes.
When I rose up,
My breath came like fleeting plumes in winter.
When I rose up,
Anticipation swelled and rolled in me.
But when every solid gray door that found me was not mine,
When I got to the top and found no place for me,
There was only one place to go.
Alyssa Annamaria
Written by
Alyssa Annamaria  NJ
(NJ)   
354
 
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