• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12
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Open It

I come from – fields of green
from trees – from birds
I come from fish – from blues

here in my hand a letter
to my future

I step into your nightmare
of concrete – plastic – purple rain

I see you look down on what you
create – how much light you
suck from this land you
lay waste and which you
want me to grow – want me
to cherish

I write letters for every gift
whether liked or hated
but this note to you
is unfinished – just as you
gift me what is yet to be

Here – open it
I want you
to write
my ending

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