[fifty one]
if i ever said i hate you,
i didn't mean it,
inaudible under breathing at night,
or to the side stuck on your words,
it's only in beauty that we lose the meaning
of scared or chances,
and when i took a chance
i jumped and fell,
and rolled,
and landed, damaged,
until the only that could pick me up
was my own crumpled self,
with one hand i got up,
the other was still reaching.
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