Oh to consider the futility
of writing sorry poetry,
poems that only a mother could love
but that MY mother would disprove of;
so I keep them a secret from her
so as not to experience her displeasure,
consigning myself to anonymity
by not revealing my identity.
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the sieve and the sand 
Always anonymous.
Constanonymous.
Indefinonymous
dailynottellingpeoplewhoyouare
okay… ya’lls were better