WHEN THE BEST IS GONE
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I’d rather you look at me—
Because the way you see me,
You think I’m some type of second best.
I totally cannot fault you,
There’re days I can’t help me too.
When I stand in the mirror,
I’m tempted to go with the rest—
Maybe this cloth has a patch after all.
Where is my strength?
I feel like these vultures picked at it
Till I began believing in the vacuum
It created in my chest—
Now I’m left with this burden
Of pretending it doesn’t hurt.
Don’t even ask me when!