Poetry is a very personal thing. It feels like belonging, a favourite jumper we go back to every fall, no matter the number of holes that are in it. It is a sink or a toilet bowl we empty our worst selves into. While reading Sammi Yamashiro’s book “The Peach Pit Mask”, I felt a bit like an intruder, for stumbling upon some of the rawest and most honest poetry I have ever read. I felt like I needed to stop turning the pages, but I couldn’t.
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