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I wonder where they go? Your looks have left you all haggard

and old and derelict like so many different coloured mirrors,

all shattered to jagged shards. Black mirror, silver, green, blue.

What wicked bits remain put back together in a kaleidoscope

of evil colour contrasting to your lost beauty.

Like your dreary voice so very ancient. When will you die?


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The Monster in me

Hate to be the monster they see
when they look at me through my eyes
and hate to be the daughter
that they disgrace with heart.

Because, I am nothing but a mistake,
I am as worthless as the dirt we walk on,
and I am as imperfect as anyone can be.

But, as for my sister she is like a princess
in my parents giving eyes.
She's everything that I am not.
She's there perfect little angel

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