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This Body is me it is us it is we   This body is mother it is sister it is lover   These arms have rocked children These hips have rocked men  
  March seventeenth ten years old My mother always told me to go outside and play with the little boy who picked the apples off the tree
You want things I'm not willing to give you Why? I couldn't tell you. It seems my body prevents those around me From seeing who I really am.
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