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  • Writer's pictureNour Mattar

jars of honey:

I was a fragmented jar of honey that bled gold dipped in diamonds into all the cracks in its sun-bleached vicinity, I did not see the harm in allowing the people to take bucketfuls of me without my consent, because I felt that it would have been a waste to let it lay spilt all over the ground. Now that I've been repaired by my own river-tinted hands I won't allow anyone to lift up my lid and pour me into their glasses without my true unpressured permission.

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