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Feb 2014
It's the first time to feel these feelings sober. With no one to confide in, I'm realizing why I was burying them with a dozer. I dig a hole, throw em in and cover em with dirt, each layer slightly ridding me of the hurt, they are buried so deep, I never expected them to show. Time lapses as the layers are swept away, things were goin great, but the hurt begins to grow. Petals of insecurity begin to bloom, leaves of communication begin to die, the lightΒ  turns gloom, it makes me wanna cry.
Jonathan Bell
Written by
Jonathan Bell  Stillwater, Oklahoma
(Stillwater, Oklahoma)   
978
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