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May 2019
For years I let you mold me,
   scared of letting time do its job.
I remained sheltered in your grasp,
   pushed into shape by your palms.
Each word you said sculpted my mind
   as you scraped away into my cracks,
   etching smile lines where my freedom once was.
But now your hands no longer cover my eyes,
I can see my reflection.

Brown, broken and ugly.
Written by
Hannah Douglas  21/F/England
(21/F/England)   
145
 
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