Confessions
she told her story in poems
and bullet journal pages
in baked goods and yarn
in the quiet moments between
late birthday cards
and secrets ruined by savvy
she told her story
to the underside of the pillow
the back of her husband’s head
the dark in the stairwell
with her hands open like bibb lettuce
and a heart closed after nine
she told her story in tantrums
colored by noise pollution
electric tears and secret snot
she told her story
to anyone who would listen
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