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"In bed, with my cracked cuticles and wet hair, I’ll dream of my childhood, of dancing; my pink dishrags will become pink shoes and I shall jump, and leap, and spin."

"When I was a child, my dolls ate dinner with me...My next door neighbor, a boy by the name of Jacob, was never given dolls."

A quick, freeform poem on love, queerness, and learning that sometimes the idea of 'sin' is subjective.