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Poem

I write these poems

To make up for the empty slogans

that gassed me up and left me choking

I held too much in, now outspoken

is how I am, now my mind is open

Poem

I opened a book
and a hand fell out.
I turned a page
and heard a shout:
'I'm lost in a wood;
my mother's no good.'
I couldn't bear to look

Poem

The space is a friend.
I tell it what hurts.

I tell it why I'm not good.
The space is a friend.
I tell it the bother I'm in.
It won't let me tell lies.