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Nov 2018
Little hands grab the box.
Rays of sunshine glisten in her eyes.
Bright smile and innocent laugh.
Her thoughts are pure and precious.
All of that is shattered when she sees the broken crayon.
Tears fall down her cheek.
The start of a darkening chapter.

I was the little girl.
Now, I am the crayon
.
Unwanted.
Untouched.
Never loved.
Written by
Lost Girl  19/F/Chicago
(19/F/Chicago)   
271
   PoetryJournal
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