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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

In the mirror,

I saw a stranger.

A face I did not recognize,

Staring right back at me.

 

His shirt fits him like a tent

to hide his hollowness

behind the fancy exterior

resides the naive emptiness

 

Why did he smile

like he's hurting?

Why did he live life

like he's pretending?

 

his eyes shines a dying light

he'd seen too much,

but in his open posture

he'd learned nothing at all.

 

He gazes back to me

an expression unread

shows self same prejustice.

This is me I see

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