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A man who loves to read poetry
Can be nothing like it
A mother may not be a mother
A promise, not secure.
Anything can be any other thing
So we say “usually”
We say “of course, not always”
They say, “statistically”.
I say, “maybe
It was the idea of you
That sat on my heart
Heavy”
You were nothing like you.
Was I at all like me?