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A Distorted Disorder

A man once told me that

I didn’t have to be beautiful

to turn him on.

But that was through the radio

with no portal for vision.

I believed him for a time

until I

was old enough to

see imperfections.

Detection at the earliest point

was the key. For me, anyway.

So I went on seeking,

detecting my own

illicit faults and

I gave up the radio

for a mirror.

The more I looked,

the less I saw and

that was still not enough

to allow myself

the music again.

And that was me, for a time.

Just staring at myself.

Blind.

Through purple rain.

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I feel sad

sometimes.

Like…

I’ve been washed in it.

It stains, does sadness…

It’s hard to budge.