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“The words are safe here,”
he said.
So, I poured my heart
told him things even
I didn’t know.

Cried the words
my heart was hiding.
“I’m hurt,” I said.
“I’m afraid,” I said.
“I’m scared of the world.”

I don’t know what
is happening to me
when my chest
goes dark
in daylight.

I don’t know why
I can’t feel the joy
of touching
a fallen, red leaf

There was a time
I enjoyed little things
sucked them like a bee
and swallowed
the honey.

Now everything is
can’t choose the scents
or colors
forgot what warmth felt like.

He said,
“The words are safe here.”
Yet, I don’t know
where is safe
for my heart.

Writer of the poetry book “The Anguish of an Oyster”. PhD candidate in Translation Studies at the University of Ottawa.

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