Poetry

Um...
I'm writing poetry! Yay...

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4. Bloody Worms

The fork pauses a millimeter away from my mouth.

My family just

stares.

Waiting.

Hoping.

I gaze at the fork,

full of noodles that look like worms,

and sauce that looks like blood.

And

can't.

My stomach heaves,

bile rises.

And so I stand,

and leave,

walking away from

the bloody worms.

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