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In a nutshell, I'm not a nut At age 22, I lost half my gut. Crohn's Disase was diagnose so, the surgeon snipped, clipped, and cut... Stella, i named what was left. She's a pretty,
You can't change her. She is a danger. Please don't try: She might cry. Her attitude seems bad, Even if she's sad. She seems alone; You can hear it in her tone.
How will I tell you? How will I say, what has turned my world from grey? What words do I use? What play? How will I convey? Portray, display, relay?
I want someone to look me in the eyes and tell me
The people squirming Through each other Sprinting Pacing Chuckling Weeping Briefcases in hand Lunging For the office Laptops Cellphones Watches Files
You? How true Are you? Are you lost? In a faraway place Where you conceal Your true face Oh what color? Do you see Yes When you see me Do you see blue?
My father told me he was proud of me once,
Unforgettably forgettable You never paid attention to her, not even if it was critical The society would see her, but she would still feel invisible You'd hear her name, and intimation owls go, "who?"