She Writes Them Now
She's never loved broken love poems,
but now she writes them.
She's always feared swollen heads and broken tones,
yet now she finds she fights them.
Despite her mother's devotion,
she's forgotten the taste of oxytocin -
broken bonds within the unspoken, spoken.
Now emotion runs frozen
underneath hollow motions.
These days she spends her time playing theologian.
Here's my question:
No one cares to know someone like that,
do they?
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