poem 83

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I ripped out my hair. I fought with myself. I changed over the season, turned a new leaf. My old self is buried under the snow, Now I'm the flower in the spring. Summer comes, I'm in a rush to become something else I'm not. Deliver my peace, for I am lost. Don't try to change me, it comes with a cost. -mommamafia


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poems to myself ✔️Onde histórias criam vida. Descubra agora