Look at the words
perched on the limb,
waiting for wings.

Letting them go
is as difficult as finding
the right way to express
an otherwise ambivalent disguise.
And when I return,
to read them again,
they no longer seem truth.
I rearrange them to sound more sincere.
Miscalculation,
perceived from afar,
no longer concealed
deep in the belly of opinion.

Find a heart to grasp them.

Poetry

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