Poetry

If I lose it, I’ll die

I keep it strapped, taped, sealed

The tightest it can be

Until its polished edges are digging

Digging deep into my chest

Cutting into my skin.

My brother lost it once.

He was twenty-five.

He wore it and flaunted it

And then he lost it,

And I never saw him again.

My father lost it once too.

When we were young, he told us

Constantly, the story of how he got it

And then he lost it,

And I never saw him again.

I wanted it too.

Despite all the dangers that come

When you lose the very thing

You sought for all along

I wanted it too.

But when I got it,

I kept it strapped, taped, sealed

The tightest it could be 

Until its polished edges dug

Dug deep into my chest

And cut into my skin.

I never lost it,

But I might never see it again.

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