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What I Would Wear To Tell The World How Grateful I Am For This Year

If gratitude were a garment,

the fiber of it would be unworthy of display:


teal-colored, whose unique existence was never entertained.


It was small-sized, and how it will be quickly disfigured with a pointless needle.


My agony, my griet, my thirst:

the only time I quenched them was when I held a cold pair of hands, and it was months ago.


If gratitude were a garment,

it would not fit like my grandmother's sleeves, as it was never knitted for it to be worn;


unless, the bones were to be excavated from the crevices of this broken earth.


The woman whose love was unrequited, and whose fashion was a delight: once open for bidding— now priceless.


I witnessed her fitting for white cushion-which she was sleeping with-became her last.


If gratitude were a garment,

it would receive stares, 

as "glory days" have never walked towards me,


for I was always naked.

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