There
is a crack in the perfect stone
of my heart. I
have let east Africa in.
If I travel west
will the land there burst the seams,
tear out my spleen
leaving me hollow
leaving me hollow
ripe for infusion and invasion?
I AM TRYING TO WRITE MY WAY TO ME, FIND MY CONNECTIONS TO THINGS THROUGH WORDS. I WRITE TO DEFINE WHAT I SEE, TO KNOW WHERE I AM GOING.
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