chrysanthemums and other forgotten creatures

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words

i lie awake at night

thinking of words that will

fit together like puzzle pieces, that

can provide an explanation for my

hurt and my pain

the emptiness i feel when the sun goes down

i think of anguished sentiments that leave

my veins like blood onto the page

what is so wrong with me

that i can only seem to make beauty out of my

pain?

someone asked me that once

what was wrong with me

and i felt, in that instant

so different from the rest

so wrong and broken

and i didn't realize until i was older

that i would never go back to the

smiley girl with a dimple and

a heart filled with love

because now i am filled with numbness.

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