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I'm Cleaning Out "MY" Closet
I went to the mailbox.
Much to my dismay;
I would've rather had smallpox,
Than what I found today.
I may sound dramatic,
And I guess that is true,
But what I found so traumatic;
You sounded so blue.
Did it cross your mind
As I curled in your womb,
That the parents I'd find
Couldn't deal with your bloom?
Did you find some compassion
When you ran like the wind?
Did you dress in high fashion
Or the flower child trend?
I hate that my screaming
Got under your skin.
One nurse was redeeming,
So the doctor dropped in.
I think I will tell you
The source of our pain
Was a clavicle fracture
With a nerve induced strain.
This poem's about Childhood,
And all it intels.
I won't create falsehood,
For truth always sales.
Don't put your guilt and pity on me,
Or whatever you felt in the latter.
You'll never know that the flower you'd see,
Came from mental abuse, hate and batter.
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