Faking an illness
To avoid the work
Can a malingerer exist in love?
Can the laughs, hugs
All be a form of a malingerer’s act
Of convention or consternation?
Is love truly blind?
Is the ugly truth of Love’s affection
So difficult to bear?
Why settle like everyone else?
Why giggle, dance
To appease onlookers of absent passion?
Stop the ingrained teachings
Of a malingering childhood
Notice a sincere love waits
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