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Stolen

It wasn’t mine.
It isn’t.
I didn’t mean to steal it.
It was so soft
and small enough
to fit in the bed
of my hand.
I hid it
in my desk,
but now I wish
I hadn’t.
What used to be
my secret prize
feels like a hole
in my stomach.

 

For more poetry visit Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge for this week’s Poetry Friday round up.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

14 replies
  1. maryleehahn
    maryleehahn says:

    On the 21st, the emotion for my PO-EMotion challenge is guilt. I have drafted the companion poem to this, about an umbrella theft!

    Reply

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