biting voice from tight lips,
furrowed brows from years of holding it in,
a pile of grievances
by your feet,
a life of bearing weight
on stooped shoulders.
the light is dead.
you can climb out of the grave (raw and bloody)
or continue digging
into the dark.
Sonder Stories 
I’m so glad you’re writing again, this is beautiful!
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Thank you!! really appreciate the support
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My pleasure!
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