The Dangerous Eight
I have a list of eight.
These eight hate–
hate me.
They hate me
and call it love.
Five women,
three men,
I’ve learned to cut them out.
Like the cancer that grows,
in my right breast.
They may not stay,
not even a little while.
Every malignant cell must be evicted.
There is no negotiation with cancer.
All of it must go–
one hundred percent.
And I must remain vigilant
to guard against any return.
B…
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