Contention, 1995 I know your wounds are sore I sit and watch my virtues and my downfalls at war. My ugliness and beauty scream at each other in contention, I want you to know your hurt was not my intention I hold tightly to the truth I try not to excuse myself with the naively of my youth. But still this feeling prevails... What if what someone wants to hear is not what you have to say? Do you tell them no or merely look the other way?

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