It's Empty Up Here In My Tree House

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People keep telling me how 'I am worth it',
But I don't really see them value me.

Their words are soft, like petals in the wind,
But drifting away before they can sink.

They paint me in colors I can't recognize,
Calling me strong, calling me kind—
Yet when I reach for their outstretched hands,
They pull away, leaving me aside.

I hear their voices, but they can't seem to see me,
Like a shadow in the periphery.

If I mattered the way they say I do,
Why would they make promises I  can't hold onto?

They paint me in colors of worth and light,
Yet leave me alone in the darkest night.

Echoes of praise, but harsh words when I fall,
Am I truly worthy to them at all?

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