It's not fair to myself or to this willing space to let it sit here and wilt. To shrivel under neglect and avoidance. How can I still be silent? I'm not an empty vessel, only an alternating hourglass - turned, rotated, standing on foot to head to foot. When i'm full i'm swollen and loaded and when empty... Well... We see how I wait and wait... Let the hand flip me. Watch me and nurture me so I'm never without a seeping voice.
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