When A Poem Hits Me in the Right Spot

Tom Fry
1 min readOct 4, 2020

just below the ribcage,

where my spleen or an organ I

don’t understand would be,

I drop the book to the ground

with so much anger

and disgust

because no one is allowed to touch me that way.

I lick my thumb to

fold a corner of the page

and throw the book to the wall

as if it meant absolutely nothing to me.

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Tom Fry

Non-fiction writing student. Abandoned essays and attempted poetry.