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Hidden Agenda

Lined up on my arm
A military of faded ribbon.
The scissors gleam under the light
As I take a deep breath.
Each strand represents a day
A week
A month
In my life.
All courage gathered
I slide the blade under the military
And cut off their supply.
There goes time,
Time in an hourglass,
Time in a can:
A trashcan, that is.
The scissors drop to the ground
And I feel like a new person.
A single, sad silent ribbon sobs on the ground.
I pick it up and decide to save it
Because it showed who I was
And who I am.

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HIPPIEatHEART_writerINsoul This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 17, 2010 at 7:55 pm



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