Poetry
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Wandering Home

The Waterhole

i have to leave now
there’s no car outside
no one is waiting
but i know it is time

if i don’t make it
i leave this note
use it to trace the
short path i wrote

manure and mountains
watercolor skies
fakeness on paper
truer in life

crisp air the silence
body as home
never felt like this
a place not my own

i was not born here
not in one sense
a rebirth is what happened
when i jumped your fence

having no claim
nothing on paper
what gives me right
to try and just stay here

a city a country
nine numbers a card
insurance and money
they’ll build up their walls

i’m a criminal rapist
not a mom not a dad
not a child not a sister
not a refugee ad

forget me my journey
my blood and my veins
what do i matter
just taking…

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This entry was posted in: Poetry

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