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Poetry by Betty No, the angels did not run out Of paint when coloring my skin Rectification is paramount Since all my life I have been Unique in my way, yet no misfit. For my worth extends far beyond What you’ve known, what you’ve seen. And in my oneness, I belong To the big picture of humanity. Rich and heterogeneous. You might call my angels clumsy But to me, they were generous To wrap me in a pattern That only God could duplicate. Singular piece of a big puzzle, The space