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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1500053
Due to society's low tolerance for the truth, I can only express my feelings through art.
I cut up the pieces, it was me
I’m responsible, but
What should my punishment be?
The pattern hinted at it madly
Predetermined, it’d come out badly
But of course, I’m stubborn
I kept on cutting

He shut me down, mid-breath
I said “breathe, you stupid stranger, breathe”
Don’t look out for me, you look out for you
She said “you’ll be seeing more of me”

I stood, mouth agape, with my rake
My paperdolls were there, ask them
I wrote it down, phonetically
I tried my hand at writing, then
My scissors broke, everything just fell; it dropped
And I laughed a lot

I have a picture of your city, it’s on my wall
I framed it, black and white
I must have missed your call
I’m sorry; I’ve been so busy lately
Ever since the stick figures
The how we spoke non sequiturs
You ripped them apart at the hands, you’re stubborn
You kept on going

He shut me down, mid-breath
I said, “read, you stupid stranger, read”
Don’t be courteous towards me, worry about yourself
She said “he just wants to see, again”

I stood, mouth agape, with my rake
My paperdolls were there, ask them
I wrote it down, phonetically
I tried my hand at writing, then
My scissors broke, everything just fell; it dropped
And I laughed a lot

I’d run but my shoes are worn
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