One man hid his from you in Massachusetts,
While mine was next door.

One had already affixed some random blonde to his,
As mine sat idle and ready.

Another man's was in a long lost past,
Yet mine was anxiously pleading to absorb your tears.

Your parents never exposed one to you,
And I sat here waiting to fill the void.

And I sense a fear within you that upon using mine,
Quickly you suspect I'll retract it,
When I might be overwhelmed by the volume of tears.

But it's here, it's true, and it's willing.
Why can't you just trust its worth?

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