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I think there is something in the air.

It's causing me to feel like I’m back in time.

Everyone has been coming back to me.

I have been given a second chance and the courage to tell them the truth.

After all these years, I have the chance to tell them everything.

How I emerged into a second skin.

I'm completely unrecognizable.

There is something on my face.

I can see my pain in the mirror.

I’m not in pain, instead, I don’t feel anything.

My clumsiness stumbles by.

It is reminding me that I still hurt.

I scraped my knee the other day and passed out trying to clean it.

I constantly remind myself to smile, because I’ll forget that others don’t understand.

I may look mad, but I’m not.

There is something I don’t want to see.

I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t want to know how I look.

The stretch marks I see, my acne scars, all of it.

I can’t stand the sights.

Even though everyone tells me I’m pretty.

I can’t believe them.

No matter what they say, I do not believe them.

There is something I know.

Many people consider me quiet, but it allows me to hear things.

From my coworkers home life, to the lady sitting in the booth behind me.

I know who they are, and I could tell you their stories.

Also, I tend to have useless knowledge.

Like the fact that otters have a pocket in their armpits for their favorite rocks.

I also know a lot of things I shouldn’t.

Something is touching me.

My skin doesn’t feel mine.

It feels as if I'm stuck wearing an itchy sweater.

A person is trying to touch me.

They have good intentions, but I can’t stand people being in my personal bubble.

Please, don’t touch me, unless I give you permission.

Don’t even look at me, because I don’t feel like I can handle it.

There is something behind me.

I feel it looming over my shoulder.

It’s that constant feeling of being watched.

It's the person I recognize in public that refuses to come up and say hi.

The thing behind me is every negative thought I’ve had.

He stands there and reminds me of every little thing that has happened.

The only way I can stop it, is if I acknowledge everything it says.

There is something I’m forgetting.

I wanted to let it go.

The thing standing behind me reminds me of it.

I must hold onto it.

Revenge is sweet.

Remember your motives.

If I let go and forget, what will happen?

I forgot and I felt bliss.

There is something I need to say.

I never wanted something to be the reason for everything.

Little things that make one big everything.

Everything is around me, but it isn’t.

To a normal person, I seem completely fine.

How could I be fine?

I am sitting here writing poems.

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