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he didn't **** me with kindness;
he killed me with blue eyes that
sometimes looked green and
lips that he had a bad habit of biting.
he never took a walk on the wild side;
he took a walk down the street to
my front door and sat on my porch
all night, even though we weren't talking.
he never broke any of his bones as a kid;
he broke every vertebrae in his mother's back instead,
intentionally stepping on every crack
in the sidewalk outside his elementary school
he never bought me flowers;
instead he called me a wildflower, ripped me from my roots
and put me in a vase for all to see, sustaining my life long enough
just to watch me wither and die.
A B Perales
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