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Poetry
Jeanna Stegman
Untitled
Self-expression has long gone
Leaving onlya basket full of missed opportunities
And used to's
A sick woman
Who likes to fuck characters in novels
Loving them with letters
Whole languages spilling
orgasms across the page.
Each appendage
So uncomplimentary
To the other
Eyes violent
Sex swollen
Heaving waves of silence
In a beat.
I've trapped myself in a corner
Words flowing so foreign
Through my paper thin skin
And I don't even know how
To edit my own soul.