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Soft Girl MAG
I am a wry observer of the world around me.
I watch everyone spin from behind glazed eyes
Lost in the foggy dredges of my subconscious.
In front of my parents, I pretend love is repugnant,
Laughable even.
I am a liar. Parts of me are soft, selfish;
I long to curl up in someone's bones.
Once again, I fold into myself
and scold the ache that stirs inside of me.
Yes, I am a soft girl.
I am ashamed of it.
Soft people get hurt, and I cannot bear
To see my mom cry one more tear.
Maybe I'm more scared than soft
After all.
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