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They can be a pain sometimes
They can have the color of limes
I’m talking about notebooks
My finger gets stuck in the metal nooks
And in it, I like to write rhymes
And in it, I would freeze the times
It carries secrets of my growing life
It has roses’ musk and cuts of knife
My moments are folded under layers
Hidden beneath the page of prayers

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( average: 3.50 / 5)

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