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Her heart had a defect

It couldn’t see its own face

So it searched in places that were dark

In beds that were cold

In shirts with smells of perfumes she did not wear

To find “soulmates”

And it burnt her over and over again

Until one fateful morning when the light pierced a hole in the bullshit

The hole allowed just enough love in

Enough for her to name the crime

And she danced

Dancer

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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