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Writer's pictureChristina Sticka-Jacobs

Birthday poem 3/4/23




The words live in me


In the cave of my being


Sometimes they come out,

I roll them around on my tongue

I feel them slide out of the pen and onto the paper


There are waves of feelings

that arise doubting,

holding me to the fire


Will you wake? It seems to say


And this is how we play...


No regrets


just living this life I've been

given


Why won't you just write it down?


I WAS HERE


I write on the wall

in the cave of my being



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