Growing up;Am I? They say I am ,honestly I am not,

They told me I have to grow hands,
and I grew one and they told me grow more,
I liked those tiny hands, feeble; curled in my mother’s bosoms,
I stretched my hands, pulled my hair,
now I can stand, stamp on heads and rule the world,
but I am shocked.
the mirror gives disfigured images of me,
I think it is not clear.

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