How can I convey to you
The way you make me feel
Without being condescending
or caustically rude?
You are a cut on the corner of my mouth
That doesn't heal until I'm silent
For days on end
You're rough sandpaper,
Rubbing repeatedly
On my dry knuckles
A tiny rock
In my shoe
A mosquito
In my bedroom
A noise
At night
You are all of these things
And so much more
So much, much more
An unfinished line
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