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MICAH ROBINSON'S

(2/13/97 TUESDAY)
WRITTEN SAME

Am I going mad for every one around
me mistakes me for someone tall
dark and smart. Behind the
curtain lies me, small ugly and insufficient
for any one who thinks of me as would
a wall that is plain as a cloud. But
my feelings stay, with or without any
help from beyond do I dare comprehend?
That no one will come out from within?