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Shove

Maybe it was my rite of passage.
That deadly, lithe disease.
A harsh initiation,
Sent by my worst enemies.

Perhaps I looked too joyous,
So young and unafraid,
So they sent a poisoned apple,
To rain on my parade.

Curiosity plagues my heart,
And yet I’ve never known
Why such a thing could happen
To someone so alone.

For years I painted on a mask,
So bright and so sweet.
Day after day I lied,
To each person that I’d meet.

But now I’ve come to terms
With who I am inside.
Someone so interesting
That they can’t help but hide.

Afraid of my darkness,
Afraid of the truth.
Carrying a burden not so
Selcouth.

There are ways to heal me,
Medicine and love,
Sometimes I need a little
Push, or even a

Shove.




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