the beautiful people

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Who are you when the world stops watching?
Is there anything real left at all?
Some pale flickering idea of a person
Locked behind the dry ice and mirror-balls?
At the end of the night when the music has stopped,
Do you shiver
Are you lonely?
Are you lost?
Do you peel off tonight’s skin in a shed story to
Drop discarded beside the bed?
Do you even believe the lies
You’ve steadily fed into your own eyes?
Have you stitched yourself a home
From the ripped patchwork of your life?
Do you long to crawl into the lap of belonging?
Do you ache and wait for its tender touch,
To tuck your brittle hair behind an ear,
Kiss your haunted eyes
And tell you
Of course
Your matter and
Of course
You are so wanted here.

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