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 Jan 2020 Ylva
Stanley
Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,
First poem I've written, to anybody who reads this is hope you enjoyed it and it made you day a little better
 Jan 2020 Ylva
jay
.*+ drunk +*.
 Jan 2020 Ylva
jay
intoxicated by sadness
in love with madness
I HAD NO FREAKING CLUE WHAT TO NAME THIS SO YEA

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