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I’m a writer; therefore, I lie.

Emily P., Wayland, MA By -Emie-, Wayland, MA

Sitting all alone
I think to myself.
Wonder where you are,
where you’ll be,
how you are.
I ask myself all these questions
I should be asking you.
And now I’m writing a poem
on the back of a napkin
with a circular coffee stain.
And I’m making up answers
to my questions
because I’m far too afraid
to get them from you.

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