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Your bring out the worst in me
No matter how hard I try too impress you
With my mind and my beliefs and my dreams
I first glanced at you, ironically, on Holy ground
Ironic, because I felt my first flutter of womanhood that day
I tried to convince myself that we were star-crossed
Because you are older, experienced, and mature
I waited eight years to be what you are
Now I realize it is not me, but you, who hides that selfish soul in a shell of distinction
You bring out the worst in me still
Then why am I writing this poem about you?