Crunchy

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If i wrote you a poem
and told you that i love you
would you believe me?

Or would you brush me off,
cast me aside like always,
another fallen leaf floating in the breeze.

Dead, brown, crunchy

Would you make me crunchy?

Or would you accept me,
love me back,
hold me in you arms and tell me
"It's okay," even when it's not okay?
Especially when it's not okay?

Well, here goes

I wrote you this poem
to tell you I love you
please don't make me crunchy

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