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Shadows are strangers waiting to be met, gazed into, get lost in. Some may catalog lectures. Others watch our rage rise.

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I imagine a man mopping the floor with my face. When he’s done, I spit in his.

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My mother buys me potted flowers to see if my heart can grow beyond my son. I kill them every time.

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White is an arrogant color. Taunting. It will kick you when you’re down or tangle you in a bed sheet.

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Somehow it all comes together without our understanding.

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