I knew you
would never apologize.
so why did I still stay?
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what if
the walls around you
crumbled,
until all that remained
was rubble,
your history
reduced,
destroyed,
deconstructed.
would you ask for help?
would a stranger
lend a pristine, unsullied
hand?
or would they watch
from the safety of their screens,
seeing not a victim,
not a life,
a reality,
but dehumanized
trash?
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I searched
for new ways
to say,
"I love you,"
& claimed it
poetry.
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when I say,
"I miss you,"
I mean
I'm unraveling
the tangled threads
of my heart
hoping they'll lead
me back to you
not caring
how much I'll bleed.
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I keep bleeding
& you keep reading
without a care
for what it's costing me.
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after all this time
you recognize
burning
the Great Library
of Alexandria
as a devastating travesty;
why
is the rubble & ruination,
the theft, murder, & starvation
of Palestine and her people
any different?
- you say we learn from history; I say you've learned nothing -
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I can't ask her
to buy me flowers,
short-stemmed tulips
the rush of rouge
my cheeks turn
when she looks at me,
& I can afford her chocolates,
dark chocolate Reese's
that stain her tongue
crafting kisses
into sweet delicacies.
but those cliches
were never us;
you can't buy
this type of love.
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I see the bruises
on your knuckles
but I'll still kiss them
clean.
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