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I couldn't move
from the carnival every year.
On every stage my ghost sisters looked so real,
in every cage I whispered "Won't you take me with you?"
And I could only see through spaces
in between teeth and spinning wheels,
I loved to find myself
lost in my own streets.
Now I don't do
what I'd normally, secretly do.
I don't stare at boats as they sail away
and try to pull them back without knowing why I want to.
I don't walk with petals in my pockets,
I don't weep for them to grow.
I wash my face in the
grass and turn back home.