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It's getting to be that point in the day
where I have nothing left to say.
My eyes are weepy
and my head aches.
I should think I should try
but it doesn't matter anyway.
"Slam poetry," 
he told me.
They put a lot of thought in apparently.
He had more to say on the matter
we discussed.
But he never came back to elaborate.

I talked with a friend about establishing
our official remarks, our reasoning,
whether to go on or to forget,
to clarify for me once more
whether I was stone in the bottom of a river
or an otter on the shore.

I could feel the sun rising within me, 
a possibility.
That tomorrow I'd get that math homework done and be free-
unfortunately,
free to be alone and silent.
Free to watch the sun set and the cats sit in the driveway.
Well at least they had each other.
But as for me,
all I knew for sure
is that I-
I never wrote slam poetry.
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Submitted on
June 7, 2016
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