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I mold it firmly every morning,
wear it like a second skin;
it keeps your prying fingers out
and holds my flustered feelings in.
In mellow light, it ripples smooth
and lets my seething fears relax.
It hardens under blistered heat
or facing threats of barbed attacks.
At times, it's breached by patient hands -
and trust begins a trickled flow;
it spreads to wrap a wistful child
within a warm, embracing glow.
It stratifies the stepping years
as habit seals each layer strong.
Is it a shield of noble stance
or tomb in which I now belong?
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