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A village and a Child.

  They say it takes a village to raise a child.

  But what if the village is broken beyond repair?

  Fundamentally flawed

  The kind you can't fix with kind words

  Like putting a band-aid on the place a knife goes.

  What becomes of a child

  That is raised by such a village?

  They'd stare no doubt.

  Ignoring the bright smile painted like petals

  Delicate, misty and fragile.

  They'd follow the child around

  Waiting for the answer to shout out.

  But the child will keep the painted smile

  They will bow and laugh and dance

  Like a dainty flower

  They won't let anyone see

  The broken mess they can't be

  It goes like this.

  The tiny village raises a child

  And glares

  Waiting for a weakness they can find

  It goes like this

  The tiny village raises a tiny child

  And it's all drowning in a striking shade of red wine.

  The child will leave the village one day.

  They whisper in barely contained hate

  The ungrateful child will leave one day.

  But for now, they smile.

  Under the weight of a hundred stares

  They carry it

  All too brave

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  And they walk the paths of a dusty village.

  With houses built and people broken

  They walk the paths of a quiet village

  And fill it with their humming voice

  Like a bird searching for a house

  They fill the emptiness

  And ignore the echo they feel inside.

  The child is brave

  The child is frail

  With a painted smile and a humming voice

  The child is frail

  But that is the price to pay

  Born on glass shards

  Born in glass houses

  All too broken

  All too broken

  That is the price to pay

  When a village raises a child.

  There will come a future from far.

  The child taller than the skies

  With a gaze that still paints

  And a smile that still shakes

  The child will walk the paths of the village

  With steps bigger than the ones they trace

  They will go to the house stuck in every dream

  The start of everything they see

  And they will knock.

  A jarring sound in an empty void

  They will knock

  All too brave

  And they will smile

  In the face of everything they left behind.

  Fingers stall on the door

  To let them in or to kick them out?

  Ungrateful.

  Something whispers in the air

  But a mother's heart is all too big.

  So the fingers open up a small entrance

  One more fit for a child

  Yet it says something about them.

  How they easily fit into the broken spaces they left behind

  How they belong to the messy picture hung on the wall.

  The future will come and they will go back to their past

  Wondering how nothing ever changes in the place they call home.

  With a bleeding heart and a painted smile

  They sit in front of their mother

  Being avoided like an illness

  Stings and burns

  Yet they push on

  Look at me.

  Something screams in them

  They only whisper it

  Look at me, mother.

  The future will come and the child will ask

  Why their mother couldn't be the only hand.

  It takes a village to raise a child.

  She would sob

  And they would laugh and smile

  Until their mouth carries the sharpness of a knife.

  Yes, mother.

  This is what happens

  When a village raises a child.

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