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Photo by Lauren Rader on Unsplash

I circled him

finding his flaws In every inch of my poetry

I don’t touch him because

he’s my own sacred shrine

untouched by human artists

Untouched by the words of man

Only to be described in silence by the divine

Whether you believe in that type of thing

or not

he’ll tell you to believe and behind him

I’d nod, yes, conflicted

I want him as my own

but I want the world to know this sacred

feeling I can’t afford to lose.

-Saschia Johnson

Written by

A writer and sensitive realist who takes risks with the intention of progress

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