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Jun 2013
I once was a colorful little girl
and I had big blue eyes, and I still do
the only difference is now I wear black
so much that they’re not blue anymore;
they’re gray
and I guess that’s kind of fitting because
I feel gray all the time
I feel as though my soul is being ****** out of me
from a straw and the juice box is labelled depression
Everybody looks on like I’m a car accident;
Scared, doe-eyed, unsure if they should call for help
I yell at them not to, but in the same breath I whisper “please do”
My biggest fear is myself and I’ve burnt all the ropes
so I can’t fall from grace
Not that I was anything close to being graceful while I was still vibrant
“Old soul” they whispered
“EMPATH” they taunted
But how long can the seven year old girl with the 98 year old soul
and the sensitivity to others feelings care for others without losing sight of herself?
How long can she read others’ emotions before she stops reading her own?
Before she stops feeling her own?
Not long.
Written by
blankpoems  Canada
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