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her pockets – our resting places;

solitude doesn’t wear masks
she likes to ask a lot of questions
leaving your heart scratching
at your eyes in a restless sleep
yet sometimes she likes to keep
keys in her pockets, she’ll
carefully take them out when
we’re locked out of our
hearts – she’s always the ending
place we retreat to, our resting place
when we should always think of her
from the start

____
backdated post a day poem for October 3rd, 2017

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