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I've always wanted
To write a poem about it
Because, just because.
I don't know why, but I guess
I really like it.
He said that I looked
Pretty, as a compliment
But it made me doubt;
I felt that he shouldn't have
It made me feel insecure.
Cut on my finger
Right under the knuckle, red,
Blood from somewhere deep;
Startled me when I saw it--
From whence did you come?
If you are honest,
You'll say the same as them all
That you never knew
The world was so big a place
With so much sadness.

— The End —