Grit

“Grit”

The constant pressure between forced molars

The one more time before gasping for air

The movement of gears when the oil has run dry

Something forced under human tissue

To be forgotten

Until

Sink holes form

Consuming normalcy

And routine

And standards of living

Forging paths in the hills 

Taking life to temporary dwellings

Hoping smoke is blown the other way

When the world shut its doors 

I got out a crowbar

Never waiting to see who wanted to let me back inside

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