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I feel jagged
jagged, you know, half torn
incomplete in that
raw throated way
that comes
from hollering too many times
at something
that will amount to nothing.
My skin isn’t fitting
like it should, and
when I move
it no longer slips
over the crease of an elbow,
a bent knee,
it wears
numb and shrouded
as a stranger.
There is a whisper
I can feel it,
strange and sandpapery
in the hollow of my throat
where words are
grit
and foam,
immersed in change.
I cannot fight time
and escape is too dark,
so surrender
I will,
a freeform
slipshod
tumble,
hope
and acceptance
the price of
admission.

by Melissa Kro.

Immerse

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