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I Piss in a Bedpan

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My sheets have cradled tears and shit
Burst bags have been washed and dried

I have fallen. I can’t get up.

Crawling is my sport, but it’s grinding
my grown-up knees into minced-meat

I’ve got emails and mails and the Holy Mary herself
asking why I don’t make money like I used

Doctors call me: I answer
If I love you: it’s straight to voice mail

I keep my wheelchair like a packet drawer
I am a nomad in my own home

~ Kristia Vasiloff

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