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Loves
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The back of the bus
They sit in the back of the bus,
the shimmer of secrecy ignited in their eyes,
her head in his lap, his hands in her hair,
her lips twisted in that sickening smile. My neck aches
from looking behind me, and my
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notes on crying
my eyes look greener when i cry,
but only in the mirror.
i think i'm pretty when i cry,
but only when i'm alone.
i never wear waterproof mascara,
because i like the way the regular kind
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