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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