Category: 365 Collection
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vaseline more high-top fade more pomade pressed
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Summer in the 90’s meant the word schizophrenia did not exist inside my mother
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float inside you, fondle your hear
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the sand squishes up between my toes like brown sugar
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I remember that Halmoni was the first person to call me a bitch.
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It is the aperture that we cling to, an exit that implies a return.
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i will peel the orange for you and in the moment you hold the piece in your mouth
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i wish to be burnt alive by what i love.
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My mother still beads adhans into a rosary at the minaret
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The wavelength of red. The lineage of honeycrisp
