Two Sides To Perfect

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She was perfection,
A rose in summer snow.
They say a rose is sweet,
A rose is pure.

In their eyes she was perfect,
No matter how small or insignificant she may be.
She had the perfect showcase life.
She was the other side of the mirror.

But she was also the other side of the mind.
In her eyes she was no perfection.
They call her a rose, but only she sees the thorns.
She knows so well, how it is when her tears flow.

They call her perfect, a rose.
But there are two sides to every story,
And one of them was hers.
She was both sides of perfect.





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