Scribbling with the stub of a pencil

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And since I can't say this to your face,

And I can't look a hair out of place,

Because there's only room for beauty and of grace.

And of those willing to run the idealistic race.

'Perfect' is what you see in your dreams.

The damaged escape the world in droves and in teams.

What you say never equates to what you mean,

What say you? Self appointed queen?

Disgusted at the desperate,

Ashamed at the pitied,

Sickened by the weakened,

Angered by the chinks in armor,

the Achilles heel,

the Blind spot of the blind,

Keep looking within me, but you'll never find.

Gosh I love this poem. I'm actually pretty surprised I wrote this - it seems to much different to the kind of shitty poems I normally write but... I was angry (reeeaally angry...) then so... maybe negative emotions really help? X)

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