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You were the feather, and I was the paw.
Who could have ever, been the strength that I saw.
Write a poem everyday, a challenge I dare say.
Ignites a knowing in a way. This is challenge, not just play.
how do you sleep?
when you feel so sick?
I just feel too weak.
Nothing will heal this, i need to weep
hurting, but you wouldn't see
how could you ever, put your faith in me.

I make myself sick.
I'm sick in the head
I pray for a fix
But we're already dead.
Patience,
is a virtue,
I'll learn to,
pursue.
Greatness, isn't purchased,
I'll be nervous,
with you.
Baseless,
on the surface,
I'll be worthless,
with you.
Contagious,
is this fragrance,
I'll learn from,
anew.
Revenge is sweet. But really is it?
Anger is defeat, seems more realistic.
Best served cold? Sweet? Seems like something to avoid.
Unblemished? A woman, yes but yet unfinished. A long way off from her goals and ambitions. On her way? Yes, but yet the road is long and hard, and riddled with frigid winters.
I just want to write about anything that's ever really hurt me,
About everything that's ever really gotten to me.
I want to let it all out.
Just leave it all on the pages in odd shapes.
I want it to play tricks and trade things in places they shouldn't be.
And when it doesn't fit, I want it to just be the way it should be, where it falls then, perfectly.
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