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Here are a splattering of poetic pieces I wrote about 2am Christmas morning. For no apparent reason at all.

Don’t tell me your secrets,    they’re worse than your lies.    For your lies bind you,   but your secrets, me

And another:

Can I really find joy

Being so minute

Being so bound by

Cannots and wishcoulds

Is peace within my grasp

Being so confronted with inner lack

Being so pinned down by

how tos and must haves

And Another:

One small step

means I love me and I

love Him and I

love Him loving me

Two steps mean

I’ve skipped loving Him love me

Three steps mean

I’ve settled for Him loving me

Four steps mean

I’ve forgotten what love is.

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