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Jul 2015

When you think nobody's home
To hear you cry yourself to sleep
You don't hear.

When you think that nobody out there loves you,
While that person you've liked down the street dreams about you
You don't feel.

When you use yourself as a canvas
And become ashamed to show your work,
You don't see.

When you send that last text,
Write that last word
With your shaking hands
Trailing behind every letter
You don't know.

That I can see you.
That I can feel you.
That I can hear you.

Because I am you.
The real you.
The beautiful reflection
That you've somehow lost
Through years
Of dirtying your mirror.
Written by
Syzygy  New York, USA
(New York, USA)   
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