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Passing through my mind
an intangible thought traces the memory of loss.
The voice in my head is a broken record
I hear the same song
restart and replay
rewind and skip in the same place
that my heart stopped beating
where I’m reminded of that familiar feeling:
I ain’t never been loved.

I wasted too much time
neglecting to listen to Billie Holiday
and her stormy weather rhymes.
‘Cause it was her heartache
that sat down beside mine.
I wasted too much time allowing my senses
to elude from my presence
And too much time collaborating with
mental cases
of damsel’s distresses.

However, deep down on the inside
I contain an insight
the breadth of my left hand
when farthest from my right.
As I bring them together
and wrap the rapture hidden
in this box of your presence,
I recreate a vibrant lesson
in the sounds of my broken record collection:
ain’t nobody ever love me.. as good as you do.

Britta B.

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