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Kipperoni
Mar 29, 2019
1 min read

My back hurts.

A dull ache in my bones.

My feet don't touch the ground.

Lifting myself above the hate.

Wings.

The wings are sprouting.

They're saying I won't fly.

Kicking me while I'm down.

But my wings are still growing.

The cuts have healed.

And turned to scars.

The tears have dried.

And stains no more.

Soon, to be soaring.

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