maternal
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my mother acts as if i hung the moon
but she can't help but criticize the way that it droops in the sky
she tells me i am just like her in looks
Pitter Patter on the floor
Tiny hands examine the cracked and worn door
Tiny hands grab hold of my flustered heart and input fragmented memories
A burst of light in the dark
Explode out of my soul and into my lungs
