Writings
by John Pag
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I Have a Voice
Shape Me
Between the Beats
Trace of Spirit
Collide
Not from You
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Monday, October 29, 2018
Collide
She doesn't hear me.
Our words collide, and echo lost.
She doesn't see me.
Our glares fire is of contempt,
We are blinded by such fury.
We hide.
Our vulnerability is in its wake.
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