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is repeating itself, stuck

to the cracks in my wall and

festering because I don’t want to face the clean-up. Movement

is still difficult, the

sound of cracking bones makes me flinch even though I

can’t stop bending back my own fingers, the clicking unlocking a part of me I thought was long gone. Yoga

promising flexibility but

not how to stop feeling guilty for a milky cup of tea afterwards. My

body used to be a graveyard for excitement but now it’s the burial sight of self-hate and

failed dates, paint

plastering the boarded-up windows saying

she doesn’t live here anymore!

She’s moved on!

Tongue tripping on teeth and tongue because even though it’s over it’s

not completely gone.


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