poetry

dreadful haiku

“I am an object of dread”
“I have become
like broken pottery”

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poetry

Brian B.

when I was 11

I was justĀ a mall
kid

deep in the
suburbs
of
Tallahassee

my mom picked
the wrong malls
always

my mom took
me with her
always

she
never
wanted to drive
the
20 miles
into the city

where the
good mall
lived

I liked it
anyways

just being
with her

I was not
one of those kids
who jumped and
ran
through
the woods

smiling

I didn’t have
that kind
of
coordination

I was just a mall
kid

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