I felt pressure to perform myself

Crippled me into a shrinking flower. Uch!

                                                            

 

We smoked inscense once

We knew it was dumb

More so than smoking other things.

We were 14.

 

                                                            

 

Why are we trusting our lives

in a pair of ‘Greasy Chipper Hands’?

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One thought on “Small Poems

  1. The smoke, bruised and calling from the incense stick tip, embroidered the inside of your mouth; you made a note to self, to keep the incense sticks on the shelf.

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