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My arm lays on sheets of paper filled with broken ideas
It's patched with yellow and pink
like a worn down doll that's been "fixed" one too many times
I look at the blue veins that run up my arms
like tree branches
stretching from their heart.
I bleed ink and taste graphite on my lips
I am made up of patches of thread being unraveled to create new ideas
my eyes shimmer like starts that little kids make ungranted wishes upon
I am made up of hidden stories that slip into the cracks of an old sidewalk
my legacy is the life growing from those fallen stories
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