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I know I haven’t been the best daughter
Running from the high water
Dancing when it’s hell
Letting you burn as well

We’re just issues with addictions
Putting aside our convictions
Sitting under bare trees in autumn
As we both hit rock bottom

At least is was something steady
Standing in the mirror getting ready
Laughing in car with spare change in the ashtray
Sitting a cafe sipping a single decaf latte

The problem was that every second was fake
A figment of my imagination created to stop the ache
I knew I could never please you
I guess I wasn’t that see through
You couldn’t tell I needed someone to turn to
But you couldn’t help anyways, not the way that words do.
 Oct 2018 Cheyanne Hopkins
Meera
Some poets write with pen
And others with pain
Just a random thought...
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