a poem

Life is just what life is always about
A quiet rage at all things we can/not stand till we explode
With words you can/not take back
Still truths in a room of moving objects
Hearts that bleed at the slightest prick
Life moves on–its what its always about

Still was I wrong to be hurt?
Was the prick so much that it could/not be ignored?

Half truths are still truths
Pain is still pain
Love is all but present

Still misunderstood because it has to be

Better than me is what is deserved
The rage is better than me
So it proves itself to be

-Matt Mitchell

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