I don’t live the way my poems are laid out off paper I struggle like everyone to keep my head above the mud, fall, crawl and cry out when things don’t go my way I extract myself when I lift a pr
in the early years when I would approach, she’d spring like a rabbit and scrabble away every leg, frantic on the the wood floor, slipping to gain footing like a hotrod burning rubber before peeling
first steps first bicycle first day of school first graduation first time leaving home first car, apartment, job first time falling in love first shattered heart uncountable all the firsts that beca
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