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metaphor of a struggle

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Just sharing a struggle. Just watching it happen. Not a prescription,

just a description. I don't know how the form will translate to

email, but oh well...

-Tami

The Words That Won't Be Said

They've escaped my Nazis

insidious and sweet

their tender bodies

barely barb-razed.

Now run naked through my streets,

hungry and desperate Parisian children,

their bare feet tear across the inside of my lips,

forming them hot

into an almost, but not,

whisper.

Then furious rush, rebel

red into my cheek.

Crying, " Speak! "

But no.

Come the black boots ground-beating.

Saving me.

I shiver.

What has it cost?

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