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Submitted:Jan 30, 2013    Reads: 11    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


Immature

Agitated,

you scream.

Being berated,

I dream.

You vent and you think,

that only you are right,

that you are the link,

that you see the sight.

You think me childish,

and so you scold

the meek, the foolish.

How bold.

And I try to smile,

and I do not seethe.

For me you cannot rile.

And so I forgive.





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