bruises

you pulled the bruises off the inside of my heart, gave them shape, punched them right on up to the surface where this broken skin can heal can be no more than broken skin no less than a healed heart.

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every time i fall

every time i fall a small glass heart, the oakland hills, a candle burning in bright day. music i can lean on. women’s voices, arms that catch me every time i fall. i am falling the way sunlight enters a room through a warm closed window and unfurls along the floor. i fall and surface…

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