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Absent. The slightest shrivel of remorse.

Not a blink or second thought remaining.

Not a hint of hesitance. Tickled with tragedy.

Salt to this earth. Peppered with reprisal.

And we were born into a frost-bitten cocoon.

Later lectured about our capacity to turn cold.

So I ask.

Can you show me how to fly with wings half numb?

Have you ever forced a smile while inside wanting to die?

Inner child.

Pain and resistance your imaginary friends.

Then why speak? Labelled an agitator. Quickly.

We can't claim perfection, rather acceptance. Flawed and all.

We know who we are. Affirmed.

Fresh out of sympathy, none the less our sense of being. Complete.

To exact the essence of your existence is a chain lifted.

We weep for those who continue to weight.


Our passion surpasses our flaws. Do not allow others, who don't understand your story, to place you in a box.



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