Perhaps

An installment of Lucy Writes Crap Poetry on Her Phone

perhaps if i unstitch these scars

wounds seemingly bound together by temp-

orary measures stapled with safety

pins.

tear my heart apart, bleed myself

dry off from the rain.

it’ll (i’ll) be enough.

will you refasten the locks

when you shut the door

or (just)

will you replace the bandages, empty efforts;

or let them stain yellow like old pages

of the journal i kept, the words written

at fourteen.

now details of my present.

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