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He wasn't Proud
I've always wanted
My father to be proud of me
I tried to make art like him
But I wasn't very skilled
He looked at my paintings
And was anything but thrilled
At night I thought
About everything I did wrong
And cried myself to sleep
This was the one secret
I would always keep
I saw the way he stared
At his unsuccessful daughter
And wondered why he wasn't like the others,
Those sweet and proud
Fathers and mothers
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