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Sylvia

I was born for making messes in clean rooms
For the children's stories I should be reading
To the children I should want

I was born for pretentious remarks, for extensive lists of faults
For the saddest lullabies on the happiest nights

I would stop and wait
If I had not already started to run away
Don't be afraid of the dark
Just run with me and the big bad wolf can't catch us

I was born to make rules for myself and break them

My favourite:
Don't become
Sylvia
With her head in the oven





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babyrex4 said...
Feb. 17, 2012 at 10:58 am
This is a really cute poem! Keep writing!
 
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