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A New Way to Vent
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On Poetry Sometimes I need
To cry so badly
But tears won’t come
As if the faucets
Have been shut tight
And the pores
In my fingers opened up.
Words seep out from
My skin rather than
Becoming trickles falling
From my sore eyes.
I can never again
Be devoid of emotion;
Instead feeling
Is a sacred tattoo
Worn on my hands,
Replacing my face.
