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Little Hands

My breath on the glass
leaves a spot on the window,
but it slowly fades away.

I press my hands against the glass
to see what is outside.
But all I see is my reflection
as if it isn’t mine.

My little face looks strange,
Older and out of place,
As if I’ve aged, as if I’ve changed
And yet I feel the same.

What happened to the little girl
That I used to be.
I’m taller now, and smarter now
I’m growing up it seems.

My little hands are all grown up.
And they're never coming back



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AriShine This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 11, 2012 at 7:56 pm
*sigh* I really identify with this. Nice work.
 
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