Even though it's raining and the parched earth is sipping only enough to whet its thirst, I will not write poetry tonight.
Even though a friend who annoys the shit out of me is leaving and I discovered I'll still miss him, I will not write poetry tonight.
Even though I feel the disparity in my bones while those around me scoff at displacement, I will not write poetry tonight.
I won't do it.
My curls are wet from being in a cloud
My eyes are stinging from not tears
My arms are wrapped around my self to soothe my heart after seeing a piece of beauty in the city die
But I will not write poetry tonight.
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