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There might be a reason I refuse to speak,
Fragments of a sentence dangling from my lips.
Maybe I'm tired and thinking too deeply,
Or maybe a volcano is waiting to erupt.
I come from many places but cling to one,
The place that doesn't ask questions.
My home is what the world can't see,
Oh, what irony! My home's hidden behind their cameras.
I play the game that I've been taught,
I become an actress of smoke-
Slipping in and out of their vision,
Becoming this and then being nothing.
I'm shy because I don't say a word-
But what is that? Because I speak less means I'm speech-less?
Just because I don't share in your hideous lies-
Doesn't mean I don't hear ever word-
Doesn't mean I don't know what you say about me,
What you say about all of us.
Your words drip from your mouth like honey,
But when the fall they turn to acid on weak skin.
Those who hear don't listen-
And those who listen hear too much.
I think what you don't realize,
Is this one last thing I'll say;
You may speak ill of others,
But what are they saying about you?

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