This isn’t a pity poem
who the hell wants to read one of those?
but if I’m honest
which I’m not very often
preferring to put on a mask and sit mutely smiling on the outside
it’s sometimes harder to pretend and say nothing
than let it out
if I did let it out
what would IT look like?
am I really so bad for having an urge to share?
the empty feeling inside
surely that’s how we hope to fill ourselves
with something other than hot air or quiet despair?
one thing worse than peripheral is rejection, so usually
we stay quiet about how we really feel incase it’s true
nobody really gives a damn once you’re grown
how I got to this juncture is the easy part
a girl is born, her gender is already
a strike against her in a world easier on men
we don’t treat…
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