its between choosing to be
a white cloth
I want their fingerprints
and smears from the pen
that leaks out the rest of the blue,
and the
stains of wax
if I were mostly dishwater
i could hide things
like blood and early age.
maybe I could drown those
streetside words.
maybe my skin would be thicker,
my stare could be understood.
but white catches things
and my life brushes back up,
when I am not looking.
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