I may not be perfect, But I have been sent, From far away lands, Fleeing from the bands. People think they do see, All of my misery, In fact I know they don't, For they seem provoked. I cry in the night, I try to do right, But nobody knows, When I say hello. I try to forget, What I always get, I write from my heart, Try not to get hurt. This poem is for you, Rising from the good view, If my world was what I want, I would be dead; but I can't. By Kayla Koshynsky
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