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Are You My Mother?

Flowing brown hair
covers warm green eyes.
Years of smiles and laughter
caused the lines.
Closets full of shoes,
her only obsession.
She’s tall.
Confident.
Her voice calm, and loving.
Yet afraid to speak her mind,
afraid of what to say.

Flat brown hair,
Warm eyes turn cold.
Shouts replace laughter.
Frowns replace smiles.
Confidence has vanished.
She only sees imperfection.
Now not afraid of what to
say.
Just searching for the understanding,
I know she has.





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