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Jun 15, 2026
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A Stranger At Home
When June out melts the winter
My numb limbs comes warm
A hated feeling that connects me to my birth place
Where I no longer belong
The summer skies here burns my youth into ashes,
Ashes that you will find under a cementary
This is a house, not a home anymore.
If my book turns to it last page, it has to end where I can find the house of my fantasies, where I can be buried under the grey cold skies of December, among those pale folks.
— nellykhaled50, Jun 15, 2026
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About This Poem
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction: How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Draft
Critiques
Geezer
3 days 18 hours ago
A cold look...
at life through grey colored glasses. Keep writing, you are getting there. ~ Geezer.
Jamie
3 days 18 hours ago
I don’t critique. I admire &…
I don’t critique. I admire & read for pleasure. Thanks for posting. I joined today too
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