When someone else’s sweat gets on me during class
trying on a metaphor
we're not kids anymore.
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When someone else’s sweat gets on me during class
When my instructor expects us to be in shape after a long break
I’m like
“I am become a sour woman, Catelyn thought. I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.”
“What I want from you is … your voice …”