Stop it

My legs feel poor in an unkind way
I don’t want to talk about anything 
I don’t want to talk about anyone 

Hoarseness will ingest lungs
Loss will be learnt from rot 

I [will] have no eyes 
I [will] have no tongue 
I [will] have no heart
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace