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Oct 2016
Are you trying to make me ill?
Because this is a recipe for disaster,
When I can plaster on a smile at will,
Is it understanding that you're after?

You comment on my weight,
But you cannot control my way of being.
Yet, my lungs still deflate,
And the the blood from my heart starts weeping.

Perhaps we were to switch places,
You were I and I were you,
Then maybe you'd understand all the faces,
I have to wear in front of you.
Written by
Rhiannon  United Kingdom
(United Kingdom)   
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