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the warmth of the cup of noodles
presses into my face
come to think of it – just how many noodles
or apples or licks of ice cream will
i enjoy before leaving this place,
before being erased, no longer walking
in the same air on the same streets
no longer wondering about stares
or how to get anywhere or everywhere,
ill no longer have to worry about scales
or measurements about what is fair
and whether or not someone truly cares
the world truly is a weird, strange place
if you think too hard on what it means
to be out of breath, taking a last breath
in a world full of air

backdated post a day poem for October 8th, 2017

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