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doorbell This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By sylvies, New York, NY

Everything she owns
is coffee-stained
she permanently smells of
velvet perfume; coffee

Looks like dry skin and sleep
writing herself in
compass-less
circles
recounting sheep
until she falls awake
and walks her dreams

You call her creep,
she doesn't see,
but turns inside to face
her brain
where new thoughts

Crawl,
pink, raw as the rough
patch on your
knuckle
from where you
knocked and
knocked
but no one answered.



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