Acquaintance

You didn’t want your friend to know who I was.
As if my very existence frightened you.
As if acknowledging me, would make me grow.
Grow into something frightful which spits
bile mixed with words.
Words of hatred.
The bile landing on your perfect clean-shaven face,
lingering and revealing what you try to hide.
My very sweat frightens you,
cut me anyway,
my blood knows who you are.

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