i guess i’ll never know.
a poem about how it goes.
my mom dies
and i pick up
where i left
off.
i stop painting canvasses and
i start woodcarving — my body
the wood, my engravings fueled by
every familial secret i was
a poem about how it goes.
my mom dies
and i pick up
where i left
off.
i stop painting canvasses and
i start woodcarving — my body
the wood, my engravings fueled by
every familial secret i was
--
writer | editor | poet | all things personal development ↠ alaynadoyal.com ♡
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