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women. writers.

Poetry: "To the Brim" by Monica Beaujon


the dirt is full
of death but i would like
to convince it
to stop swallowing

i do not want to be
part of the cycle
a gear in the machine,
a piece in the puzzle,
a sinking wave in the sea

one night i devoured a lit match
and a pile of chopped wood;
the next morning
i felt flame fly in my belly

when i exhaled, it reached
out of my mouth
like scorching fingers; it was then
that i decided i will

break the machine,
set fire to the puzzle,
and drain the entire
ocean to breathe as much everything
as i desire

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