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Their whispers ring.

They say, cold.

She is cold.

She has

no blood running

behind her white

cheeks. And I say,

yes. I have no blood

to give. All color

is drained from me.

And they say, heartless.

Her eyes are

perpetually dry. No

one has ever seen

her cry, and I say,

yes, I have no tears

to shed, they are

gone from me.

And persistently

they scream,

She is silent.

She has never spoken

a single word. She is

weak, she has

no voice.

And I say, no.

My voice is loud,

you are just deaf to it.

My voice cries

through written word.

My veins are dry

because my pen

takes all of me,

and leaves nothing

unwritten. I do not

cry human tears

because ink can

overpower them. Words

bear my emotion better

than my own body.

I am different

because I chose

to write instead

of suffering. Pain

cannot contain me

while I am holding

this pen. I do not

belong to this world,

I belong to words.

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