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You’ll hate me when I tell my truth.

My feelings splattered on the page.

Still wet the tears, though blood runs dry.

Your feelings locked in wound lined cage.

 

Heavy your weight upon my brow.

An arduous load I long to shed.

But faithful Atlas I endure.

Rid thoughts of struggle from my head.

 

Extinguish memories, leave the past.

Unsalt my wounds from rendered tears.

Adjust my shoulders, take the weight.

  What price on loving through one’s fears?

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Arul Joseph

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