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I am from cells, built together to make my mother’s uterus, If I wasn’t supposed to come out, then how did I,
don't tell me things about myself that i know are lies   don't say that i am not good enough when i know the truth   don't say that i am ugly when i can see clearly  
Mama keeps telling us to wash the dishes. I am lying here, with my young dumb stuck in slumber mind, thinking why Mama just did not do it herself.
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