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They say that loss leaves you empty,
with a void that you can never fill.
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I'm a master of disguise, a woman of many faces,
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Now I lay me down to sleep,
in small hope that I might find relief
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I've been tending this flower since it was a seedling, watched it grow from a shy sprout to a bold bud
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This heart needs a little more red
with a more melancholy shade of blue.
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You would shun me because I talk
in all manner of ways and tones,
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There's a woman sitting in the park. She's crying, silently.
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Christmases come and go, but still you haunt me, regardless of the season.
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A knock at the door and all in a house fall silent, time standing still for one moment.
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So many tears shed, so much time lost worrying over the same old things.
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I've become accustomed to coloring inside the lines, meticulously, carefully, going around the edges
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There are days that call for grass, a lazy tickle of green tendrils
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Summer, my old friend, you've come to visit me again.
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The American flag is bleeding, her blood dripping slowly but surely into madness.
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I take my smiles with me wherever I go
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These hands fixate me. To know them is to know me.
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Kwangju and other instances when the world turned a blind eye to suffering.
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Have you forsaken them, Buddha, to allow such slaughter on the day of your birth?
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A mother worries for the child who grows up too fast and puts her concern in the wrong place.
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There's a twisted irony in the word paradise, one that haunts me to this day
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Loneliness bubbles slowly to the surface seeping from weary pores and running across
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Skies sobbed ceaslessly
but always I was there with you,
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What moments best define us? Are we to be praised more for the endurance of traits
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A beautiful turn of phrase captures me draws me in close to a higher meaning and thought
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Red flowers fill my vision from left to right,
dripping petals unfurling slowly and persistently
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Fingers trail slowly, cautiously
along the edges of this facade.
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I'm lost to remembrance, eyes closed embracing memories ignored to the point of forgetting
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Caught in the twilight of my own uncertainties,
stripped of my ability to love purples and blues.
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I've grown accustomed to keeping company with the voices in my head,
which, if I am honest, are really only one; you.
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They hated a villain that never was,
put together by seeds of discontent
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I looked in your eyes and pretended
that I saw stretches and leaps
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What promise is there in tomorrow
when I can't get past yesterdays?
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You tell me what I don't want to hear,
urging me to listen because you know best.
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You eagerly devour any material that comes to hand,
eyes skimming urgently and ears peeled to appreciate any musicality,
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Another comment stopped mid-sentence by inattention,
leaving awkward silence in its wake.
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