No

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 29, 2018

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Submitted: July 29, 2018

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And the burning photo fell into the trash where it belonged.

No. Not now. Not now will you stand there holding back the esteem  that I foolishly, naturally placed in your hands. Because I took it back a long time ago. So you can clench your fist in stubbornness, or rage, or fear. Brandish your ivory with disdain, or pride, or lust. It doesn't matter to me. Not now. No. Not again. Not again will I fall before the lilac lash that inspires a crawl. Because it doesn't hurt as much anymore. Nor does that charm-chain. Nor does that yesterday-yoke. You will not bind me. Not again. No.

And the burning photo rose from the trash where it belonged.


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