spill your guts (tepid edition)
if you don’t talk enough your thoughts
turn to grey matter rat kings
if you don’t care enough agony and worry comb
your hair for you
if your iron isn’t high enough it’s not because your
organs always turn to steel knives
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I like you anaphora of “if.”
There’s a musicality of this poem when it is read out loud. I’m curious though, who is the “you” in the poem?
Thank you for sharing this.