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July 27, 2016
I hold myself in your hands holding me, and I'm reborn to a lost idea. I lost it in the maelstrom that became the fabricated womb of another life I led and lost in the spot crazy glare of calm, where thoughts of dying were no longer poetry, where the angels of distress welcomed me to redesign their wings, reestablish their geometry. This, I can say, was the arena I fell within to heal, now it's your hand that guides where no other can, through arenas most children understand blindfolded, but not I. I am almost in high school now.