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I Was Not Happy When I Wrote This MAG
October 12, 2014
you say my hair
is a blanket
of darkness
and my eyes
are fireflies,
but you like me best
when my body
is a tree in winter.
You call me your flower
but you snap my branches
every time you look at me.
I am not made
of metaphors;
soon I will be nothing
but a twig
and I was not
born to be a
skeleton.
© Megan B., Harpers Ferry, WV
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