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I'll never understand why
cutting open my skin or
starving myself
was an easier thing for me to do
then simply ask for help.
I was always called a pig
I was always seen so fat
I was always feeling ugly
I was this and I was that

I was always called chubby
I was always seen strange
I was always throwing up
To hope a sudden change

I was always called a loser
I was always so depressed
I was always starving bad
My thoughts so obsessed

I was always called a baby
I was always called a fake
I was an attention seeker
Family help was a mistake

I was always called skinny
I was always seen so thin
I was called beautiful after
Did I lose?. Or did I win?.
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins

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