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white coat
Poems
Feb 2014
In the making of a lasher
I think it's sick the papsmere wasn't regulated and readily available until the mid sixties
I think it's sick that women feel less threatened when a man asks to stick her finger I his ***
Than if he can pull her hair
I'm too young to feel this old
I'm too old to feel this disinclined
You told me I smelled like rain
After you left that Wednesday service
The **** of your God
Written by
white coat
between no where and now
(between no where and now)
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