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she was a girl after all isn't that how it
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poetry -
the most beautiful form of anger;
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I did not even notice that my hands and feet were bare
as the strength of music matched the lightning
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No one writes poetry anymore.
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Things change, with the passing years;
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Endless stars crown the night sky
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This is a poem.
A poem to capture this moment,
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Looking in the mirror at my painted face,
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I realized I would never know
what you think or why you do
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I never felt you pulling
dragging me out of my shell
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she was the belle of the masquerade ball.
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Late in the night this poetry I peruse
Marking each element to see what I could use
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Send in the clowns
I need the clowns
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I've become myself, and
I don't need you anymore.
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Driving here beneath the stars
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Je n’ai aucune philosphie
Je ne sais pas qui je suis
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I should be asleep
Not writing late-night poetry.
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I've spent my whole life
Working up to this moment.
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All I ever wanted was a little recognition
A single word of praise would have sufficed
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although the word is still unreal
death surrounds me
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Who can I be?
you seemed to know
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leave me alone, I just want to cry
to let my soul pour out through my eyes
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I just want to dance
to get away
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I was going to write a poem
simply because I hadn't
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standing in darkness
safe darkness
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feel the livewire electric current
running through my body
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see the infinite stretching upwards
and we are at peace
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This soft sweet cool treat,
did it sooth your troubles away?
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Or do we enjoy misery
and find happiness in our sorrow?
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I know you love me
and always will
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rain falls downfrom a sky filled with sunbut if things are so wonderfulwhy these tears?life is beautifulfilled with light and sun.<B
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they say that leaving's easier
than being left behind
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