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the miserable life of a miserable teenager
chapter two - sticks and stones
Hurt less than those sharp words.When I made jokes,
they laughed, Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.
at me.
Not with me.
I was a weirdo, a loser.
Tomboy freak, who couldn’t concentrate.
But I played with them at recess.
And they smiled like they weren’t fake.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words fucking hurt.
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