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Twas floritz and the checkic wroves Were stitch and stab in the zuture. All chintszy were the floves, And the threed reaths gature.
there is a doll i own it resembles me, down to the bone so whenever i start to change my ways it changes too, on the same days one day i decided to change it myself even though i knew it could change itself
A Conversation in Stitches. Sewing is like a lonely morning. Spent at a table, With a group of people around you. While you think by yourself. The machine sings a comforting song.
A growl and a sigh I'm so sick of this. I long reminisce Of my closed peaceful eyes, And the deep calming breath Slowly lifting my chest. Just to lay down and rest
Bump, bump, bump, the needle goes. Stitch after stitch; they form a row. Two pieces of fabric sewn to make a seam. Sew, pull, cut; it becomes a routine. Hard work and imagination you need
I don't think that I can see it as well as other people You can do it again and again for centuries Checking my work My new job Making costumes Doing makeup The only thing that can make me happy
I don’t know which I care for more: The sewing machine on the shelf Or my starving piggy bank. All the different settings Sing songs with lyrics That are in a different language