They were of a girl so desperate in the hood, that forsook all her beauty to see if becoming a dealer she could.
The little girl she was, pretty as a daisy, with mischief in her dancing eyes later got certified as crazy.
All throughout the pictures, there was a story I could tell, my eyes held the key to my madness and my hell.
Walking through the years, I kept noticing my smile at first my teeth were showing, then fell out of style.
Hidden behind lips, that were drawn across my face, the saddest of smiles, revealed a harshness that was foreign and out of place.
At first I was happy baring all my soul; looking at the camera, beautiful and whole.
Then came the storm that shook me to the core and left me ripped to pieces strewn and on the floor.
In one shot after the battle ceased, I was heavier, more peaceful yet still fragile as a leaf.
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