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to you

To you I probably smell like

Chanel Chance

Because I saw it in the airport

On my way to Cannes

And it has been my scent ever since

To you I might be in

Black lingerie, under a red dress

On the streets of London

Because no one would ever know

But us

To you I probably have my hair

Pinned up, all extravagant

Ready for it to fall




The way you like it

To you I’m a figurine

Ever fluid

Not porcelain—but scarred

Like a broken statue in the rubble

Naked, bare, and barren.

But to them I’m a vessel.

None other than.

Speaking words of wisdom

Sharing my only truth

A representative

For something higher than

I could ever imagine.


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