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I don’t decorate my lips.
I hear my words for what they are.
I see my actions as they pass,
I no longer cling to scars.
I’m no longer made of glass.
I took off my dress of glue.
The one that had words stuck to every stitch.
Mean, bossy, ugly, spoiled, selfish
I’m a work in progress.
I don’t try for perfect days.
I don’t cry for what has passed.
I live here.
I have now.
If you stay long enough to watch,
I finally know who makes me happy.
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