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language is the ground beneath me
that trembles
and the aching that builds in my soles
as though i’ve been running across fire
and rows of teeth
it is grief
at a tongue that dances
and rolls
but refuses to lay still
it is leaving the garden
with?roots twisted
bare
and searching for a?spot of earth
that will let me breathe
if only for a moment
in the words that i call home.

Roqayah

The author Roqayah

Writer, researcher, published poet, and cat enthusiast.

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