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Funeral arrangements:
I host a funeral for a child that died,
In the loneliest way possible,
Her scars are pried open and her cries are muffled.
Her hair is as red as the anger that seeps out of her torn out chest,
Her heart already gone and given to everyone she met.
The seats stay empty past a quarter to three and when I turn to the mirror,
I realize that child is me.
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Please don't harm yourself. If that's your ideations.
ReplyAuthor here... the poem wasn't about self harm but more of a feeling that my childhood self has died. A realization of something I never got to experience still leave.
ReplyThis poem was written to show an ugly side of childhood. One that I never got to really experience, one that was full of pain instead of the love a child should have gotten. It's the realization that it's finally gone and that I wish it had been better.
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