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Untitled (8/17/09)

October 7, 2009

these things harbor a fast
sleight of hand, weight uneven
on your tongue, make me marvel at a chance
to believe in

the last one, the only
worth that can last.

you pile on
a lie that can share
but it grasps only what you want
and shadows who you are

meanwhile that confidence is vast
and unfailing
but I choose to ignore
the conceits you use to harm me

nothing you could say would alarm me, now
that I know
the confusion you’ve sewn-

only a way to divide me

while there’s never a way to repair me
or the love that devours
any balance I cultivate on my own.

I hate who I am to the world
something to be cruel to and derided
teased and bloodied in the midst of hopes.

I miss that self that knows no love like this
a self before romance.

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