Poke your fingers in my eyes and I will open wide my jaws. Linen cloth, quills or paper, all will split before my might. What am I?
The answer is: Shears/Scissors
I have memories, but none of my own, whatever’s on my inside is what is shown. If I’m ever different it’s because you changed me, I feel like a decoration, here for you to arrange me. What am I?
The answer is: A picture frame.