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To you I am nothing more than a punching bag
Though unused you look upon me with fists of fury
Beating me with your heated glare
To you I am no more than a microphone
Abused by the venom of your words
You whisper into me as with rotten eggs
Your words come to me like honey bees
To you I am no more than torn material
You stitch me with an aroma of red
Carelessly placed as misshapen stains of rage
To you I am nothing more than a vase
To carry the unsightly burdens of your hate
You vomit inside me the intoxicating smell of profanity
To you I am no more than a reflection
You never touch me with words of love
You accept me with a glance of denial
I never smell the touch of your affection
The taste of your acceptance never graces my ear
To you I am nothing
But to me, I am you
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by Similitude
To you I am nothing more than a punching bag
Though unused you look upon me with fists of fury
Beating me with your heated
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Poetry: Looking in the mirror
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