All ye clothes
Needing to be perfect to clothe
Like silver linens and its cloud
The edges of the scissors
Come together to murder
Cutting through like a dead meat
Leaving you tattered
For the painful pinning
Of waiting pins
Cry not
The same hater strengthens
Fitting you onto your dreams
Making you dreams of eyes never thought of
Let the cries of sewing machines
Scare you not
Let not the taunts
Of hungry scissors
Make you cower
The goal is the aim
Crowns go through hell
In order to fit on kings
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

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