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When I try to paste words to what happened they get
twisted
and ruined
beyond recognition
But somewhere, sometime,
those words will stick easy, neat, and clean.
You just have to figure out how to get there.
“Will it hurt?”
I ask myself.
“Will I be the same then as I am now?”
But
I look outside
and see a car crash through the grey snow melt.
“Spring is ugly,” I say.
All of the mountains of plowed snow
blackened with exhaust,
and the mud staining everything.
“At least, at first.”


JEREMY VACHON is an aspiring writer in high school. He enjoys caring for his dog, snake, and cats; and collecting and cleaning animal bones for display, collected humanely. He lives with his mother and her girlfriend, and hopes to attend Kenyon College in the fall of 2019.