Everything goes in poetry:
bold, regular, and italics. 

My first (accidental) prose-poetry, inspired by the Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff.

This one is about pains and Paris.

Frustrated by dress-codes and gender roles, I penned this piece to release that teenage-angst.

Stepping into unfamiliar shoes, these words explore the plight of women in war-zones.

No fancy intro; this is about imposter syndrome.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but why pay more when less than a hundred can do the trick?

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