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Little Things

The mountain is growing,
higher and showing.

My pain and anger leave me shattered.
Maybe it’s true that I don't matter.

Nothing is left but an empty shell.
Growing smaller and smaller until the final farewell.

Hope is fleeting leaving me alone,
completely defenseless to the unknown.

The same old excuses that are overused,
But they're not the ones who are getting mentally abused.

Each comment, each joke makes my mountain higher.
Why I am I the one constantly under fire?

Brush it off, push it out.
Things I do when I’m full of doubt.

Weird, liar, lunatic,
all names that will permanently stick.

My problems may just be mostly their negative chatter,
but its still the little things that always matter.



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