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Apr 2015
Keep knocking on my door,
pounding till I'm sore
shout at me so loudly-
I can't hear you anymore

Now you're holding neon versions
of the signs I didn't see
And though it's clear you try your best,
You won't make a victim out of me.
This poem is still in the drafting stage, but I accidentally saved it as a public piece. Taking advice and edits(:
Written by
   ---, Realeboga M and SPT
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