Mapping pins
We are cut
from the same cloth
Our poetry, our words
are mapping pins
The inner rip
The visceral tear
The internal cut
Fist rage embodied
in every silent tiny prick
of the mapping pin.
We are cut
from the same cloth
Our poetry, our words
are mapping pins
The inner rip
The visceral tear
The internal cut
Fist rage embodied
in every silent tiny prick
of the mapping pin.
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