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Kids Will Be Kids

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I’m the child of
this grand country.
But Mother America
isn’t the type
to raise me, she’s
the type that
microwaves me. She’s
the Mother that keeps
the car windows
up. I’m trapped inside.
It’s hot. I can’t
breathe. You see,
I’m the accident,
the fatal womb killer.
I want to held. Only Mother
doesn’t carry me. She
buries me. I love my
mom, but I will always hate
my Mother.





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