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My Picture Frame

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I’m a picture with three corners
Misshapen and poorly sized
You can turn me every angle
But I’m the same on every side
Too plain to hold importance
Too odd for you to forget
Why can’t I find my endings
To where my edges should have met?
My paint is splattered
The brims are frayed
My frame has fractured
The dust is here to stay
Every hand that’s touched me
Has left its own new wound
Because people take for granted
What my beauty used to do





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