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Jul 2018
It came into my senses that I've been writing for the people who left,
Not for the people who stayed.
I've been writing at night so let me start off by saying,

This is not the end, but a restart.
I'm writing in the afternoon, naked, before I take my shower,
Thinking, this is enough.
I am enough.

No more silly sorry
that comes out of my mouth automatically.
Like it's been sitting in my tongue,
waiting for my lips to part.

This is not a good bye poem but rather,
a fresh start.
No more hiding and running,
I've been so attached to the people who gave up,
That I almost gave up too.
It was selfish.
The time spent to this

Kingdom of loneliness,
Yelling at me with whispers and thin air,
Letting the void be filled with darkness,
Always listening. Never talking. But, I

Rise with my broken bones, not to fight back but
Only to hug bruised skin, and fragile heart
Saying, "this is nothing,"
Saying, "this is okay."
And say, "I'm still here."
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