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Mar 27
This is not refusal of happiness
A desperate plea for attention
It is a manifest of emotion
Not some imaginary invention

There is a madness populating my head
Billions of shouting **** voices
Every one an echo of my own
Spelling my lack of choices

Lately hopeless feelings have grown
A desolate cold orchard
Blossomed a place I belong
I'm welcome but also tortured

I have laid down my roots in quicksand
I'll be withered by afternoon
A pile of wilted petals
Unless I am picked by someone soon
Written 2/16/12
Amanda
Written by
Amanda  23/F/Alaska
(23/F/Alaska)   
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