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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1214259
a work in progress
A sensitivity that earned me the name of
crybaby,
and forever changed who I am today.
For who wants to be around a
crybaby?
No one does.
So I pretend to be strong.
Smile when I hear others say that I am.
“what Fools”
I think as they say they are
Weak
in comparison to me.
I am not strong.
I am a fool myself,
a crybaby at heart,
who hates to be teased.
Tears, even now,
sting my eyes
as I move to smooth my furrowed brow.
I have a hardened heart,
a hardened shell,
A façade to fool all those around me.
I long to fall helpless into someone’s arms
but must use my arms to catch others instead,
I am a crybaby who can cry no more.
© Copyright 2007 MyOwnSkye (myownskye at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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