December 5, 2011
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Still a child, feelings of isolation

run through my marred mind.

Low self-esteem is like burning acid.

Real friends aren’t defined.

The knack of standing out is quite easy.
Blending in is not.
Trying to fit in is like a fake dream,
that hurts like a shot.

Until my courage peaks I am alone,
like unwanted dogs
who live in cold weather without a bone
needing a kind home.

What makes the dog through its meanest Mondays,
is not its fake strength.
For it is its hope of friendlier days
without the acid pain.

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