Early mornings, a poem comes to me
Stripped of all poetic pretences
Brutally honest words stringed together
In strictly tautological sentences
Truths I had hidden from my own self
Opinions not bundled in lies
Selfish mistakes and naked egos
Owning up to broken ties
This poem looks at me with me
With a certain sympathy in her eyes
She knows I'm not strong enough to write,
Retreats; leaving me with comforting lies
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