At First...

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Sticks and stones,
May break my bones,
But words,
Will never hurt me,
At first.

Your words,
Are like a feather,
You throw it at me,
And I'm fine,
I don't mind,
I'm not even bothered.

But after a while,
They pile up,
On my heart,
And that innocent little feather,
Gets turned into a dart.

You sharpen the tip,
And dip it in lead,
Aim at my heart,
It makes its mark,
I'm dead.

Because sticks and stones,
May break my bones,
But words,
Will never hurt me.

At first...

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