Oh papa,
thank you for knocking down doors
smelling like you do
for I am not much different without you.

Papa listen.
My lungs grind as I run,
my knees hurt but
I must run.

Oh papa,
I lost you on the tracks once,
you ran back around,
but I could not see.

Papa, papa,
sweat tastes like tears.

Papa I hate it
but I always run to you.

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1 Comment on "Papa"

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A wonderful sweet-bitter poem of high sensitiveness.