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The first line; a revelation: An abrupt realization Setup for another rhyme Repetition; a confessed crime Hidden behind these self-aware, writings lies a naked layer A damaged woman in my mind Burning memories from her time Men hate me but wear my shirt Love confused with perpetual hurt I told him I don't like to fight I surrendered with all my might I must dedicate moments to them Whom I decided to hurt on a whim Moments not small, not hidden either Self-effacing; no rhythm or meter