they’re always like, “no way”
when I tell them what I read about
and what I write about.
my bright colors,
they can’t believe I express them in such darkness.
my light air,
they can’t believe I breathe in such smog.
when I tell them who I am
and what I feel,
they can’t believe I’m really me.
And I say I know I know,
I actually agree.
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