unrequited love is a

beautiful thing,

unfinished

imperfect, and

untouched by filthy

reality

~

but beauty is cheap

for it surrounds us.

even the cockroach nibbling

at the dead skin on my foot

is beautiful in its battle

for survival.

~

collecting these beautiful

things is like

collecting cow dung –

there is only so much

of your hut you can cool

by its slathering on the walls.

~

and all incomplete things

burn you inside

cell by cell.

but it feels good

to be born

once more.

~~~

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