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If only I had a map
of my dreams,
I’d traverse the mountains
made of gas.
Soar in the rivers
of branches and toes.
I’d make the sky my world.
Swimming in an ocean of sound waves,
I’d learn the true meaning of
God of None.

That’s a young naïve
Girl’s dreams;
I can’t relate to that.
Not as of late,
with my dreams causing
shakes and quickening breaths.

My map now is different;
Someone’s fracked my mountains
down to craters
and spilt oil in my rivers.
I had to tattoo my map
On my body,
away from prying eyes.
I won’t say where,
but its wide and wet
and itching to say something
To you.

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