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Lines.

  • Writer: Sam John
    Sam John
  • Mar 4
  • 1 min read

I never knew where the lines were.

Even when I learned where they were, I stepped outside of them

Every single time.


Just to say that I could.

To question the line makers and the lives they lived.

Who's to say where the line is.

And why the hell would I conform.


To fit the lines of rogue nations and debilitating insecurities.


Yours faithfully,

Maker.


 
 
 

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