![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSlIBhOU9XVPYpL90LswCiOIu2H5Kged6F9kPvylDdBh3LS05a9fkmb0OtSuE4e5jZ6bLZ6voqf5kUG_u_2ZdGfRdn8mOZ7X2ws-N-IBgwtRBYRysrP5cIvatkyoh2EadU4xFqhwRdUGL/s600/afterness+138.jpg)
my life,unselfishly
given-hours of
pain, all for a
(pathetic) pink bundle
of skin.
and a hand, (ten times)
bigger than my own,
to steady myself when
balancing on the tyres
outside the school.
My independance, drawn out of solitary days
amongst peers who did not know i existed,
and the same unselfish hand, ever there to
push my hair behind my ears and tell
me i was beautiful.
and now, my identity, written between the lines of the books that i read
and on the face belonging to the hand, that is my existance.
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