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Her pen is on the blank white paper
Carving scars and stars that can never be erased
Like a butcher's knife
She stops because she knows
That she is not a recipe followed to the nth degree
She much prefers playdoh being plunked out
And sloppily molded
Into something that was originally supposed to be a lion
But turned out looking more like a giraffe instead
So she keeps it that way
And pretends it was supposed to be a giraffe all along




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