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I am sealing you
in paper lanterns
and sending
(all of) you
up into the night
as a sacrifice
to the blood moon.

I finally counted.
In 29 years,
there were 23 men
who didn’t love me back
in the same way.

And two who did.

One who I left,
and one who left me.

Tonight, I send 24 lanterns
into the night sky,

24 “no thank you” (s)
or
“I don’t think of you
in that way” (s).

I am ready to let go
of the hurts,
both real
and imagined.

Ready for past rage
and the atmosphere
to burn them all up.

Beautiful disintegration.

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