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Feb 2017
i have
no interest
in choreographing
my words for you

accept them
for their crudeness
as i hold-up
a mirror to myself
and give visage
to my vulnerability
and ego
at once

i have
no playbook
of shotguns or draws
to piecemeal myself
into your heart
or quarterback sneaks
to call when it's over
and i decide
that it isn't

i have
no artifice.

i don't
play games.

i am
the coldness
of the world
wrapping-up to you
for the morsel
of goodwill and warmth
that exists
in itself.

i won't
that i'm better
and that scares
you away.

i am
not a hypocrite
i don't
cry foul
when i am trampled
by others'
pursuit of happiness.

i hold
this mirror
to myself
to grow.

i think
i will grow alone
as this vine
the herbicide of art
and climbing
to the top
of the aristocracy.

it's there
the weeds grow
and into the minds
of the people
who do not
accept me.
Written by
stylesclash  28/M/USA
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