Aida Zulema

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My Hands I’ve hurt as many as have hurt me. My hands are wounded and my hands are explosive. My heart is at war with my heart. I mean, I am at war with my heart. Cut me first. Make me bleed first, so at least then I can write about it. And you, you will live in the forevers of ink & scar tissue.
This is How I Die: Collected Poems
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