Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks March 2015: Identity | Page 11

they write your name next to.
History repeats, all that’s left;
neutrality at the cost of
a better passion,
and the count of
how many ribs you have and how many you’ve lost.
I abuse my fingers
and still expect them to carry me through.
There’s always a way
to see trauma as something to crawl into.

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