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My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her ******* are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.
 Apr 2020 Eleanor
No scream escaping your forcing grip.
No cry slipping through your tight lips.
No fear reaching from your fingertips.
No sadness seeping out of any tears or rips.

Not a single tear streaming down your face.
Simple perfection, poised with grace.
Let good emotions falsely replace.
Stay flawless, dressed in silk and lace.

All feelings bottled up inside.
All feeling trapped, and forced to hide.
All feelings unable to leak a small cry.
All feelings stuck. Happiness a lie.
No use to try.

Put on a smile, leave it there.
Don't take it off, don't you dare.
Nobody needs to really care.
It's your fault. It's only fair.

Keep quiet. Don't let them see.
Keep quiet. Let the truth be.
Keep quiet. Listen to me.
Your true feelings will never be free.

— The End —