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I missed him.
His glowing presence
And warm nature
Brought back the color
Of the ground.
He brought me
Back to life
After a season
Of death.
His existence
Was clouded by worries,
But he came back
Today.
This is not a letter to myself,
Nor to someone I left.
This is for someone filled with regrets,
For those whose pain demanded to be felt;

It was the obscure evening,
The night when you found yourself— empty.
You lost trace of the light's being,
T'was the moment you chose to flee.

You gave everything you must give,
Gave them all their needs—
Yet there's nothing left for you, not a penny,
Not even a single bit of sympathy.

You were lost, tears were crystalized,
Pain made you lose your mind.
There, you made a decision,
You became your own rebellion.

You killed people, hurt 'em with your words,
But never regret, they did the worse.
Chose to choke you while you're breathless;
The people who made your darkness.

It wasn't your fault that you hurt people,
It was them, who killed your own person.
You said my words were synonyms for beautiful and my lines let you crossed boundaries. You said what i was making was art to be preserved. But, darling, my words arent from books, nor these tv shows, nor the fantasies of the real world. My words are a part of me and a piece of what you called ugly. These words were carved using the sharpness of the blades that once cut me. And how would i expect you to love me? My art is for the eyes of the ones who are brave enough to look at me.

so how are you supposed to love me?
4/13/18
You said you've accepted me but your eyes says otherwise.
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