Wilt

You look like you need a hug.

Then your rizz glides out

With a heavy drawl of ego.

I am reminded your favor

Is conditional upon

You always being right.

Common as your peers,

I see your nervous tics.

Maybe you do need a hug

And to know that

You have nothing to prove, that

You can take accountability, that

You are more than enough.

Maybe then, it would be nice

To know you, however,

Until then, I do know you will

Burn me and blame me

For refusing to wilt.

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