I chose the part of my truth
That's scabbed
And needs picking at,
Just so you can see me bleed
A little
And almost feel my pain
But, you'd rather
Choose the wrong band aide
On purpose
And rip it off,
B/c listening isn't as important
As what you want to see.
Scabs are prettier
Than the wounds they protect;
Dried, meshing flesh
Undressing
A nakedness you missed.
Your fingers are no
Substitute for ears
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