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Tired
I'm tired of the tears on my face
It's like I’m running a never-ending chase
No matter where I try to hide, how fast I run
They will always be there
With hurtful words that scar
With one heal scar
A new one is not far
I'm tired of the tears on my pillow
The memories still haunt me at night
Memories of people saying that I’m not pretty
That it's not okay to be me
I lay awake at night
And think that I tried hard with all my might
To not feel the words I hear
Act like the hurtful words don't linger
But people talk so loud
It is impossible to pretend that all the laughter isn't at me
That everyone isn’t pointing at me
I'm tired of the tears I wipe from my hand
I wonder if people call me names for so long
Then maybe there right and I’m wrong
Maybe I’m not pretty
And no one will ever want me
It makes me wonder how long
Do I have to deal with the crying, the sorrow, the hurtful words and the memories?
Will I always have to deal with the sorrow?
If there is no TOMORROW
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A really good poet write so that the reader can walk in their shoes just for that one minute. Victoria Jones