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The memories we make of ourselves

When I was little people made cruel jokes,
I couldn’t afford name brand things because at the time my parents were broke,
I remember I used to cry myself to sleep,
And every friend I tried to make I wanted to keep.

I’m different than most,
Only because I don’t get fake tans,
So I seem like a ghost,
Over this I won’t weep.

Because I do my own thing,
Not caring about anything,
Just living it up when I’m young,
And trying to be free.





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