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I’m in love with the shape of you


It was overplayed at one point,

Blending into our social fabric

Like small talk he made at a pit stop

On the way home from the game shop.

And he liked to play

According to her build

his car, his PC, his horse

The better the build, the more to brag;

But if it wasn’t for her build

He’d only have

a car, a PC, a horse

An ‘our Father’ without a Motherland.

Yet, all that was left in her hand were second-hand goods

Stood up at the side of the road.

What if she played out

Something that had never been imagined before

Something that exceeded her build;

Something that she built.

Something she could brag about

Without the scores penetrating her thighs

Or the metres of skin she owns.

Something she could show the world

Without the scales of ‘justice’

Whispering snarky comments about her build.

She built.

It was her will.

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Giovanni groggily sat up in his wheelchair. He had fallen asleep again. He gripped the inner wheel as he pushed himself along the sterile hallways. The hallways were so familiar they appeared even in


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