how I became a poet
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poetry finds me words unhinged in melatonin miracles that reside in a
cracked projector lens and the soft curls of a projected boy who
spits rhymes in shared atmospheres of breath.
At one point in my life,
I lacked things to do,
So I pulled out an old journal,
And that I went through,
I read the poetry I used to write and figured,
that if back then I could write,
