loss
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a poem following the prompt shown.
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The way grief pours into you,thick and rich like molasses,sealing the loss with sticky solemnity.
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I gave up all my childhood relics too early. I refused my dolls, my stuffed animals, my notebooks full of novel ideas, to swallow maturity instead. I was sooner than ready ushered into adulthood, to wear the mark of maturity ripe on my flat chest. Every “you’re so mature” proclaimed from an adult singed it deeper into my flesh. The
Lashanda Forsberg 