Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
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What is it about me? That though yearning To be beyond reproach I always find myself wanting The much I strive to toe the line ...
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Is it true I'm a teeenage goon That I be reprimanded this soon. Is it true I, ghetto girl, dress indecently That I’m a...
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