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Stickes and Stones.

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Thinking something
Does not make it true.
But thoughts
Are sharp objects
And hurt,
When thrown.
Just the same
As sticks and stones.

Your words
Are splinters in my skin
The ones that cause more damage
When taken out
Than going in.
And I can shake my head
As much as I want
But that doesn't make it go away.
It doesn't
make it
go
away.

Don't ask me questions
The answers get caught
On my tongue
Because I'm afraid
Of being like you.
Your words shoot out smooth.
Like a bullet
Through the barrel of a gun.

The colors
Of my insides
Spill out through
My open eyes.
I'm ashamed
To be noticed by you.
You continue to shoot,
I have so many bruises.
I am one
Enormous
Ache.

If anyone
Had the guts
To cut you open
There would be
No truth
Or colors.
Just
Layers and layers
Of confused
and empty
empty space.





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