I can stand strong
with just a toe
on a matchbook—
maybe a soft mutt—
yet pull more than my own weight,
a rebel yell
preserved in even smaller spaces.
Past cast-off. Orphans
never weep for home;
they burrow, they furrow,
and wallow
in a life they’ve made.
Don’t wear down—
just grow callused, harder,
deep in depth,
defiantly pliant,
’cause I serve two devils:
you,
and myself.
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