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May 2022
in your head, as you turn
down the violet sheets in your bed to climb
inside. Leave the canvas white. Don’t fill
it up with mountains and sky. How can you

hear a thing she says with a boombox
pounding between your ears? How can you
see the tears she's shed with striped shades pulled
over your eyes? How can she add her piece

when the pages are cluttered with
your beliefs, sneaking in the dark as
covered black thieves. Stealing all the apples
from the trees you planted outside.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
134
   Ledge
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