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Eyelash
A spindly silver thread
caught in the air, caught in a net of straw.
A spindle—a tickle of wire in palm.
Wire is silk.
Silk is thread is soft is spindly silver.
Silver is flame.
Flame like a silver thread.
A speck on my wish-cream cheek,
a stretch in my brain.
They told me that's not what I am.
Broken poetry strands in my hair—
a tear, a tear.
They told me that's not what I am.
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The poem is about wishing to be something I'm not, and the struggle of trying to find myself a life that is depression free. Then again, it's mostly free association about eyelashes--so much fun to read aloud! :)