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You were a thorned rose; placed onto a rotting grave,
who made even death;
seem beautiful with *grace.
 Apr 2015 Rhianecdote
Deenah
You changed. Slowly.
So slowly maybe, I'm not sure you even saw the difference.
But I did.
And I couldn't speak to hurt you- but I couldn't keep it in.
My soul battled itself.
And there is no victory for one who fights themselves,
*For when one part dies, so does the other.
I'm so confused at the moment. I'm sorry if this isn't much of a poem... But I had to share.
You told me I could pour my all out to you,
I trusted you,
Even when I saw you, yourself—are punctured.
How can I pour all my secrets into a damaged jar?
Mirrors,
You never notice their magnitude,
Until each glimpse of reflection disgusts you,
Depresses you even,
When you are miserable enough,
To question significance of breathing,
Or why being born to this earth,
Has left you to feel deprived,
When your consciousness tells,
What you believe are lies.

You are a beautiful person,
Be aware of hidden gems.


Yet, compliments of being physically appealing are avoided like molten tempers,
Promises of the sweetest nothings,
You know to not take to heart,
After all,
You know what it is that they really want.
When people find you attractive and you feel otherwise it makes you question the truth within their minds....
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