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I wish I could tell you about all of the scars on my skin,
Or why I have 87 tiny punctures on my thigh,
the whole story about my living as a diabetic,
And those daily insulin injections,
But I just don’t think you’d understand.

I would love to tell you what I see when I look in the mirror,
First thing in the morning,
But you would probably call me crazy
Like I’ve been told,
Many times before.

I wish I could tell you why I relate more to poetry than to actual people,
And how seeing words written on paper are more comforting to me,
Than an actual face.

I want to tell you about all of the different people
That I’ve been,
And all of the terrible things,
That they’ve done in my name.

I would….

But I just don’t think you’d understand.

I wish I could explain to you,
How I dream about the people I’ve lost,
Over,
And,
Over,
Again.
And I want to tell you,
About how consumed I get,
Into my own surreality,
But I just don’t think you’d understand.

It’s very hard to live,
When half of your head,
Is soaring high in the clouds,
And the other half,
Would rather be ,
Buried underground.

As you can tell,
I’ve had to teach myself,
How to balance,
And I want to tell you,
How hard that gets for me sometimes,
But I just don’t think you would understand.

I wish I could tell you what I mean,
When I say,
That the person I’m scared of the most,
Is myself,
But I don’t think you’d understand,
What it feels like,
To stab a knife,
Into your own back.

I want you to know,
That I will always try my best,
To keep my head above the water,
No matter how high,
It may rise,
Because if I have taught myself,
Anything,
At all,
It’s that —
I’m wise enough
To keep fighting
And strong enough
To win.

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