perhaps we are all two,

perhaps we are all two,
three, fifty-three selves
meeting and unmeeting.
who’s to say holding
it together is better
than allowing some
selves to fray, get
caught, tangled in
another’s edges,
so that when we are
pulled apart, gathering
up our separate
threads, there
will be remnants,
a change in color
or texture, weight
or pattern, a natural
that somehow
strengthens us


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