July 16, 2012
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Most of mine,
I have hidden.
I do not whine,
I am forbidden.

Lines and patches,
From head to toe.
Made from scratches,
Most scars show.

But some scars,
can't be seen.
They are bars,
made by the obscene.

You look at him,
He looks just fine,
But something grim
He must confine.

You look at me.
My limp and eye,
Are what you see.

Why judge,
By what you see?
You may smudge
Your opinion of me.

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