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The Anchor

He whispers promises like waves, soft, but enough to pull her under,she lets them wrap around her ankles, lets his lies become the tide that cradles her to sleep."He’ll change,"believing…
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Seasons Without Names

Where I’m from,we don’t call it summer,we don’t call it winter—no, our seasons have their own names.In the cold, rainy season,we slid through the mud like children chasing freedom,our feet…
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To My Daughter

And you, relentlessly screams… speaking to me in a language that has not been taught to me prior, looking through my eyes to my soul for a hint of understanding…
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