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Untitled

8-30-13

I raise my hand

I'm begging for help

My veins are like wind chimes

Dangling in the wind

Begging to be let out

To be visible

To make music

Music of the weak

To be vibrant sparklers

To run down steep banks

It's their fantasy to be free

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Written by

rebeca-ana-olvera

American

Published: Mar 5, 2014
LinesWords: 1249

Permission

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