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  • When she was six,
    She spilled milk all over the kitchen counter.

    Her father spoiled her til her thoughts were no longer fluid,
    Legs were useless,
    And she began to taste sour.

    Her mother, she could not hold her.
    Though, she wanted to, but could not remove her.

    Drowned in pills and drained with dreams,
    Her mother, no,
    She could not hold her.

    At sixteen, raw but sweet,
    There were things that she could drink,
    But more things that she could swallow.
    She consumed milk in powdered forms,
    And the only thing that would hold her,
    She held in rubber.
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