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i know him, almost by heart
better than the back of my hand
which has never interested me
memorised his face, i could
carve it into the air, at will
but we could not ‘see each other’
it could be (or would be)
narrated by the others
a private-life crime
breaking personal laws
made from promises that make themselves
just because you are
someone’s daughter, someone’s sister
born here, living like that
every which way, no matter
the folly.
just one life, your own only life,
but severing ties takes some kind of suicide
biting your leg from the trap
hoping you don’t bleed to death.

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