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200 · Apr 1
Stars
RH Apr 1
Does a star really burn in the sky?
Or do they simply work till they die?
Short poem I thought of while pondering jobs, I think the burning of stars is a lovely metaphor for who the capitalist system works you until you die.
183 · May 19
Sewn
RH May 19
Sewn, rough hewn
Tis’ how I present to you.
Betwixt my sutured surface
Of those whom I knew once,
Lies but the tiniest sliver of me.
I was originally going to title this poem "Seam" (Pronounced Sah-Mm), but it would've been hard to get the pronunciation I was thinking in my head onto the page. Enjoy!

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