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I speak...I speak to self,
tells it to write,
Self refuses - Wants to stick,
to the old sites...
I question, question to self,
Asks - Why? Why not?
Self says - Life is harsh,
to the little ones - they get no right!
They have to sulk in,
and sleep alone and tight!

I am confused!
Asks 'him' - didn't I feel you in me,
inside - the other day?
Didn't I cry for you,
On that Thursday?
Didn't I pray before...
before I aborted you...
my little self.

Copyright 2008 Vim

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