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I Hate Poetry

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Poetry flows from the soul.

I love my soul.

And yet, I hate poetry.

The beautiful workings of my heart

spilled onto the pristine page

makes me cringe.

 

Why must you see me?

Why must you understand me?

Why do you need to know?

Why do you even care?

 

Because I want you to.

 

And yet, I hate you.

I see me.

I am me.

But you are you,

and you see me.

 

There is no quid pro quo.

 

You can see me, but I can't see you. 

An unbalanced game of hide and seek.

You always seek

and I can never hide.

 

But I want to be found.

 

Why?

 

So that I can see.




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