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Abstract
uckled under the wait of despair
Pieced my way together for air
But when I came up,</p></blockquote><p id="e662" type="7">….the oxygen wasn’t there</p><h1 id="dbe9">Your Turn</h1><p id="8918" type="7">Theme: Buckle</p><p id="394e">Share your own one-line poem on the theme as a response to this post or write a stand-alone piece if you prefer (and post it here). Tag your piece “One Line” or “Chalkboard Espresso” if 15 words or less.</p><p id="0447">Have a question about the One Line project?
Read the <a href=
Options
"https://readmedium.com/submission-policies-responses-f8c28f3ede2b">submission rules</a>!</p><p id="2d7e">Thanks to <a href="https://readmedium.com/c93dbd2ed33e?source=post_page-----3fb1b69805dd----------------------">Harper Thorpe</a>, <a href="https://readmedium.com/2503aca48dc?source=post_page-----3fb1b69805dd----------------------">Kathy Jacobs</a> and the entire <a href="https://readmedium.com/1754c338032c?source=post_page-----3fb1b69805dd----------------------">Chalkboard</a> team.</p></article></body>
