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Some people in LA are addicted. They have to be here. My personal life is stronger than my professional life, in terms of priorities.

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They Have Embraced the Act of Panic

With opportunities,
For some long gone!

Blessings.
To capture blessings...
With an expressing of thankfulness,
Everyday.
With a realization...
They have arrived and have been witnessed.

With opportunities,
For some long gone!
To carry on,
They have embraced the act of panic.
Everyday for many...
There is something they say for them,
Goes wrong.

With opportunities,
For some long gone!
There is something they say for them,
Goes wrong.

Blessings.
To capture blessings...
With an expressing of thankfulness,
Everyday.
With a realization...
They have arrived and have been witnessed.

Blessings.
Some don't see blessings.
But they have embraced,
The act of panic.

Blessings.
Some don't see blessings.
But they have embraced,
The act of panic.

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Glad They Have Been Abandoned

Have you yet grown sick of it?
Women referred to as pitbulls.
And men in politics stating openly...
The opposite sex,
Are lipstick wearing pigs!

Ladies and gentlemen,
Regardless of what you might think!
But those of you who are still among the conscious...
Have to agree,
While this is going on...
The quality of life for all,
Is nearing the edge to a close call.
And about to fall off the brink!

Isolated and united in racist remarks.
Increases to diminish common sense!
Leaders are focused on catfight brawls...
While a once great nation,
Is showing a greater taste for sensations that stagnate.

Have you yet grown sick of it?
Women referred to as pitbulls.
And men in politics stating openly...
The opposite sex,
Are lipstick wearing pigs!

And those who proclaimed these days would come...
Seem to be the only ones keeping their distance.
Since they have long been slandered and ostracized.
And clearly peaceful beings,
Who are glad they have been abandoned!

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This Ones For The Children

This is a very serious message so all of you please listen.
There are some people living in this world
They have no food to eat
They have no place to go
But we all are gods children
Weve got to learn to love one another
Just remember, they could be us
Remember, we all are brothers
Im not trying to darken up your day
But help others in need
And show them theres a better way
This ones for the children
The children of the world
This ones for the children
May God keep them in his throne
Many people are happy
And many people are sad
Some people have many things
That others can only wish they had
So for the sake of the children
Show them loves the only way to go
cause they are tomorrow and people, theyve got to know
Im not trying to darken up your day
But help others in need
And show them theres a better way
This ones for the children
The children of the world
This ones for the children
May God keep them in his throne
This ones for the children
The children of the world
This ones for the children
May God keep them in his throne

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Never bear more than one trouble at a time. Some people bear three kinds - all they have had, all they have now, and all they expect to have.

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Che Fece

For some people the day comes
when they have to declare the great Yes
or the great No. It's clear at once who has the Yes
ready within him; and saying it,
he goes from honor to honor, strong in his conviction.
He who refuses does not repent. Asked again,
he'd still say no. Yet that no-the right no-
drags him down all his life.

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Sabina

I love you from my heart,
So come and take me back home with your muse;
And hold on to your dreams no matter how hard you fall!

Thakful people find joy in what they have because,
A bird at hand is worth mre than millions in the forest! !

The same place and the same spot,
But the fisher man's boat was not there! !
And Sabina came and rescued me.

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Even Though Some Do Not Show They Have a Clue

I do not have to respect you.
I choose to do so.
I choose to be respectful,
Even though some do not show...
They have a clue to what that means.

There has been a breakdown of concern,
Others display for one another.
There is a total lack of empathy,
In many environments where people bleed.
And are homeless and go hungry.

I do not have to respect you.
I choose to do so.
I choose to be respectful,
Even though some do not show...
They have a clue to what that means.

And it is difficult to sympathize,
With those who have 'had' now 'have' not' in their lives.
Those who made it a point to criticize and devalue,
Others they despised.
And now they cry their own tears they can not hide.

I do not have to respect you.
I choose to do so.
I choose to be respectful,
Even though some do not show...
They have a clue to what that means.

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Some People Are Blind

Some people have eyes
But can not see
While those who are blind
Can guide those
Who are lost like me
For true sight is a gift
From God
That shines from within
With his guideing love
That has no end
So these eyes
That can not see
See clearer than those
Who can see

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That's How Disconnected 'Some' People Are

The best way to keep a happiness achieved,
Is to remember...
How it was obtained.
Since many who envy it,
Believe what one has...
Can be purchased at a flea market.
Or received by way of a fling at a bar!
And they are upset,
A bargain was uncovered...
Before they got the opportunity to flaunt it themselves.
That's how disconnected from reality,
'Some' people are!
The others automatically assume it's fresh dicreeted sex.

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I Think We Are About to Have Some Company

'The sky is falling!
The sky...
It's falling! '

Would you go out there,
And shut her up!

~But that's not Chicken Little,
Your Majesty.~

Well...
Who is it?

~That's that backtalking head hen,
You got rid of long ago.
You know...
The one who told you where to go,
And shove your 'weapons of mass destruction BS'?
She's leading a bunch of other chickens.
And it seems as if they are heading this way!

Remember that guy you tried to have silenced?
Reverand 'What's-his-name'
When he shouted from the pulpit,
About chickens coming home to roost?
I think we are about to have some company.
And none are too pleased...
About the state of the economy either.
Maybe that guy was 'Wright'? ~

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People In Other People's Lives They Have Never Met

Are you that person,
To take what you hear...
To be fact and not fiction?

Have you ever disliked someone,
Because of what you've heard?

Did you ever disrespect anyone,
To one day regret paying attention to gossip?
Helping to spread the rumors...
That defamed and shamed lives that were done.
And you had been the main one...
Wishing to pass on fresh innuendos to come.

And one day...
You just happen to meet,
The nicest person someone else introduced to you...
As the two of you met,
Coincidentally on the street.

And there you were,
Feeling embarrassed with remorse...
You and others,
Were the reason this person was divorced!

Well...
You are not alone.
There are so many people in other people's lives,
They have never met.
Nor have ever seen before...
Until they actually meet!
On the street or socially...
With wishes they could find someone like that,
To come home to and be happy to love.

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Even When They Have Been Teased

There are people everywhere,
Caring less they are sinking fast...
Into thick quicksand.
There are those who stand by,
Offering a helping hand...
But they are being demeaned.
It seems those who have come,
To rescue some,
Are being taunted by the ones
Who still want to flaunt their delusions.
And hold onto things that keep them sinking!

And prayers to free and release them...
Those in this fix,
Have been dismissed.
Since the others with faith,
And making gestures to save them...
Were the same 'outcasts' not invited,
To the last social ball!
That kind of sickness should appall them all!
But it doesn't.

The ones who sink...
Prefer those of status and name recognition,
To reach out with lifelines to assist in their survival!
And as they sink fast,
Those observing this...
Are deeply saddened by the ignorance displayed!
But this scene does not keep them dismayed.
They will always choose to dance in Sun!
Even when they have been teased,
To blindly leap into disaster!

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Some people are afraid to show their true colors

i am not
i don't hide

i have nothing to hide
i am what i am
i am brown, i am a Filipino,
and I am not afraid, I am what i am, i show who and what i am, and i take responsibitity
for what i am
for what i write for what i do for what i say

mountains do not hide, how can they? the seas keep their bodies in the open
their waves blown by the air, for how can they be what they are when they are in hiding?
the trees and the plains, the valleys and the hills, what can they be if they are in hiding? shall you see a vast desert of them then?
the air, if only they have that nature to be seen, they could have assumed such forms that you see, they too are happy to be seen so that you may believe in them,
for in truth, those true and giving do no hide, and if you cannot see them,
they always try,
in some conceivable manifestations,
in some shapes, colors and forms
like some leaves falling when the wind passes by,
like some trees bending, like some pieces of paper blown to the other end.

why are you in hiding?

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Some People

Isn't it a gamble
Layin' your heart out on the floor
Nothin' short of a miracle
When you find the one you're looking for
It's another kind of trouble trying to hang on to who you are
When all you wanna do is lose yourself in someone else's arms
Isn't it a wonder (that) we got this far
Some people aren't lucky like us
Some people they just give up
When the hard times fall
The thrill of it all is gone
Leaves you in a cloud of dust
It's sad to think that some won't find it
And others won't recognize it even when it comes
We're all at the mercy of the will of love
Some people yeah
Some people aren't lucky like us
Two lonely souls that just stumbled into fate
Look how much we've been given babe
In spite of all of our mistakes
And I will never forget I've been blessed with the gift of lovin' you
And when the going aint easy babe
A little faith will pull us through
Thank God we have eachother we can hang onto
(repeat chorus)
Bridge
To have someone you can laugh with
Someone you can cry with
Tell all your secrets to
To have someone who won't judge you
Someone who just loves you
No matter what, they stand beside you
(repeat chorus)

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Some People Are Just Lucky

What, if anything, in a tomorrow wished,
Is guaranteed?
If the ability to experience the 'now' today,
Is an activity done that can be achieved.
Besides procrastination?
And many daily do that AND succeed.

Too often it is heard by some,
What they can not do...
Because there is no time to find.
Or funds to wine and dine themselves!
As if in a 'tomorrow'...
A lottery win will come to change their minds.

However,
Explain this to me...
What, if anything, in a tomorrow wished,
Is guaranteed?
If the ability to experience the 'now' today,
Is an activity done that can be achieved.
Besides procrastination?
And many daily do that AND succeed.

And why do those who seem to be in sacrificial mode,
Are always considered the ones who are lucky...
When working hard all their lives,
Creating their own opportunities.

'I never see those folks out socializing anywhere.
And they always look tired and haggard! '

~I wonder why? ~

'Maybe they stay home laying on the couch.
Watching too much TV? '

~That's what I do.
I don't look like that.
In fact, the doctor told me I was getting fat.
And I know I keep active.~

'Yeah,
Some people are just lucky.'

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Some People Listen Some People Don't

You judge me before my words can come out
You can’t even look my way
And you leave me with no doubt
You won’t listen to a word I say
And I will never be heard by you
No matter what it is that I do
Some people listen some people don’t
Some people listen some people won’t

You shut me up before I can speak
You shut me up so you can keep me weak
Now I breaking all your rules
That you have made just for me
To keep me away from my history
From my strength and my dignity
Some people listen some people don’t
Some people listen some people won’t

You don’t know how many times I have prayed
That you would hear the words that I have to say
Now get out of the way
Because we no longer have to stay in this prison of the mind
Because we find you guilty of the ultimate crime
Now get out of the way
So that they can hear what I have to say
And begin to make their plans for escape today

Even though you made me a thug,
It is out of love that I put my message out
Find your voice in school and follow the Golden Rule
And shout it out, with out a doubt
That you will be heard, until you are heard
Right down to the very last word
Some people listen some people don’t
Some people listen some people won’t

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Some People Can Fall In and Out of It

I need more than superstition,
To remove suspicions I have of love.

I feel as if,
I have been sentenced as a convict.
And I did nothing but wish to want to know love.

Some people can fall in and out of it.
THAT...
I just don't get!

Others need to know value and substance.
As if to become inducted into some hall of fame.
Either because of a name change,
Or a brain induced by temporary insanity.
And love does that.
The thought of it can make one crazed,
While possessed with excessive obsessed delusion.

Experiencing the depths of it can make one sick.
Especially when suggested remedies are not acceptable.
Like patience, virtue and loyalty.
Terms outdated but some say they work!

I need more than superstition,
To remove suspicions I have of love.
I just don't buy into this forever after stuff.
The minds of the people are just too corrupt today.

I feel as if,
I have been sentenced as a convict.
And I did nothing but wish to want to know love.
With the hope to explore the significance of it.
That's all.


Some people can fall in and out of it.
THAT...
I just don't get!
My mind, heart and soul has to be in the mix!
For me to feel it is legit.

I have been left feeling empty.
But no longer will I give my heart to someone,
Who returns to me an ice cold attitude.
Because I might be in the mood!
And they are plotting to remove me from their agenda.
I've been trained to recognize traps like that!
But love...
Is like playing Blackjack or shooting craps.

What a risk to gamble away like that!

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Patrick White

Some People Like To Take A Water Droplet

Some people like to take a water droplet
and turn it into a haiku.
Some people like to write
like the loose thread
of a quick-witted alpine stream
trying to unravel the mountain all the way down
with dazzle and flash.
But when I shoot my mouth off
about what I don't know about nightingales
it always comes out ice-hot stars
above a rush of northern rivers,
the Mackenzie, the Fraser, the Thompson
and when I want to risk
my cowboy B.C. French in public,
the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
Some people like to weave their mindstreams
into lakes with their third eyes open
to the flight of the white clouds
and the sky that doesn't inhibit them,
but me I like to flow and fall and crush
swell and fork, shift, shape, loop, swerve,
destroy, nourish, and change course
like the Ottawa or the Skeena
in the May spring run off
when the ice floes and weight-lifting waters
are flexing their muscles
in powerfully sculpted anthracite and jade.
A river, yes, blackwater and white alike;
what could be more
quintessentially Canadian than that?
A river as inhospitable and bleak as the Arctic
toward life in its beginnings,
and still as wild and dangerous as Hell's Gate
as it approaches the sea
after many perils and epiphanies.
I am the sorcerer's apprentice
when it comes to rivers
but I like to go with the flow, the power, the depth
the cosmic expansion of their homelessness,
the cataracts and wetlands of their manic mood swings,
the way they uproot and sustain,
carve traffic islands out of granite
and tear down bridges in their path
and then slow down mellifluously
to let a doe come out of the woods to drink
from the reflection of the way the water sees her.
I give the orange spruce root rot in rusty shallows
and strip the bark from defrocked trees
the herons nest in like a brain trust.
Grizzly, moose, cougar, wolf,
elk, deer, beaver, mink and muskrat,
eagle, loon, drake and Canada goose,
what totem of star mud
has not mingled its blood in my flowing,
what stars have not tingled on my skin
like butterflies landing on single sunlit hairs,
what tribes have not sat around their fires
while I flint-knapped the moonlight
into radiant silver spears
as the waves made small music
like a background theme of silence?
I don't need to know where I'm going.
I can be Kelsey, Thompson, or La Verendrye,
and keep a journal of where I've been
and make rough sketches of what I've seen
because flowing freehand isn't a point
it's a destination that's always on the move
shooting the rapids of the life line
in the palm of your hand
as if life were precious enough to risk it all
to see how far you had to go
to flow off the edge of a starmap that doesn't know.
Clash, dash, swirl and recover,
turn, counter-turn, stand
I like to waltz my way out of knots and nooses
like an Horatian ode in the glands of a Romantic poet.
I like to boost the torque of my whirlpools and currents
and open up the throttle
on the straightaways of cobbled river stones
as if I had a big four-stroke between my knees.
Underwhelm the birch groves before the beavers do,
tear the cedars out like molars,
turn whole villages into houseboats
and take my wrath out on the petty roads
that whine like potholes and puddles
if it so much as even rains.
All weak threads of ancillary streams
are gathered up into the strong ropes
of northern rivers with enough spine and backbone
to have all their chakras open
like the lunar and the solar filaments of serpent-fire.
My poems taste of stone and glacier,
unnamed valleys where the red-tailed hawks
have never set eyes on a human
and the sound of a voice
leaves the mountains speechless,
not knowing what language to echo.
Roil, roll, tumble, and spume,
lost in a froth of creative chaos
that brings forth rainbows and stars
and auroral veils of water and light
to mystify the message in the medium
by frustrating the logic of syntax
in the scintillant radiance
of counter-intuitive metaphors
that relate in myriad family ways
like salmon swimming upstream
summoned out of the spontaneity of the past
against the flow of the timely waterclocks
up to the sacred pools of birth and death
to die like old moons in the arms of the new.
I wreck whole forests like the Spanish Armada.
People run to me like a lifeboat
for shelter and sanctuary from the fire.
A northern river is the jugular of a snow dragon
with its wings spread as wide as Canada
breathing fire like two year old red oak
in a Napoleon airtight with a see through window
and a ten inch Selkirk chimney
that looks like it were cast out of moonlight
instead of polished aluminum
on a cold clear winter night in the country.
A poem should not mean or be
but do something to you like Vancouver,
rip off that life raft you've moored yourself to
like a running shoe tied up at a dock
and throwing it down like a gauntlet at your bare feet
see if you can learn to sink or swim for yourself
or, at least, walk on stars,
or pull the thorns of crescent moons
you're bound to step on along the way
out of your heels with your teeth
like a wolf pulls a porcupine quill from its paw
with barely a whimper of regret.
Sometimes you've got to bite the bullet
to get it out.
But a river's like a barbed arrowhead
and it's better to push it all the way through
than it is to let it tear at your flesh
like a bobcat on its way out of the bag.
It's not a good idea when you're in a northern bar
to start arm wrestling
with drunken men who build dams for a living
but you can get away with it
if you're a river and not a highway,
because they of all people
know your potential for destruction
when you're backed up
and there's no other way out
except straight through a brick wall.
El Toro!
And there's a crack
in the cement cape of the matador
that taunted the broad-shouldered bulls of the river
like a cattle prod in their stalls,
and a horn through his gored heart.
Torrent, rage, acquiesce, and chill out,
yes, a northern Canadian river
will do just fine as a similitude
for the way I like to write,
a neural connection to the planet,
a water root of dendritic black matter,
the circuitous blossoming
of wild irises and quaking aspen groves
all along the great water ways of life.
And as for inspiration
who needs more than the coming and going
of the waterbirds
to learn how to master words
as if they were as free to be what they are
as I am?

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Patrick White

Some People Go Looking For Happiness

Some people go looking for happiness.
Some prefer power or beauty wealth and fame.
Some crave intensity.
Some seek peace.
Some search for food and shelter.
Some want to die with a good name.
Everybody takes their lead from the way they came.
And everyone says they're looking for love
though no one knows what it looks like.
They try to fit their thoughts to their words
like skin they can touch
that doesn't scar like the moon
or shed like a petal too delicate for the senses
but most just end up trying
to mummify the mindstream
by laying thousands of years of starmaps
down on troubled waters
like autumn leaves
that don't know where they're going.
Eventually everything's swept away
in the undertow of a dark ocean
that only smells sweet from a distance.
And longing shifts like infra-red into the blackness.
And bones on the moon are the only signs
that life once perished here.
Orphic skulls whose jaws dropped
like gates before their own gaping prophecies.
Time flows like a non-existent future into us
and it fills us with a hunger
for everything we've lost
or feel somehow was always missing.
One of the cardinal features of the emptiness
we are conceived again and again out of
is there's nothing behind its face
you can fix like an identity to space.
For fourteen billion years
the universe has been nothing
but one long beginning without end
making everything up as it goes along
out of nothing
like a man whistling down a long road
far from home
late at night
to let anything that might be listening in the darkness
know he's there
so nothing can take him by surprise.
And every step he takes
he steps across a threshold like a star
just coming into being
whose light goes off in all directions
looking for blind water it can turn into eyes.
Bosons hadrons leptons neutrinos wimps and quarks
the deeper you look into the matter
the more you realize
out to the furthest galaxy and beyond
seeing is being
and being is all fireflies.
And every one of them
is true north of nowhere.
Some people follow their own beginnings
like laws into the future
hoping to become someone else
that doesn't recognize them anymore
for who they were.
The peduncle's lost in the ensuing phylum.
Their future's rich
but their past is always poor.
The planet doesn't spin on its axis for them.
It's hinged like a door
that only opens one way
though it's a two-faced god
that begins them like last year.
But the leaves of autumn
aren't the laundered money of spring
because if our fulfilment
weren't already behind us
we wouldn't be here
trying to true the last to the first
of an unfinished multiverse
like the best to the worst
as if red were the past of blue.
Stop thinking birth is the past of death
or spring is the future of winter
as if they weren't the same breath
and one breath of life weren't enough
to keep the fireflies glowing in your ashes for eternity
and everywhere you look
you will flower like a vine
that divines its way to the wine
by ripening the grapes of gratitude.
You will understand
for all that you have grasped
and brought to fruition
your most exalted aspiration
is a heap of dead branches in the spring
burning like leaves of fire
still reaching out for the sun
and you will hear the mind-mirror whisper to itself
like the wind on far off waters
Narcissus is drowning in his own reflection
like the flashback of a life he left unlived
but everything is immersed in me
like a mind
like a sea in a fish that ran aground
on the uncharted landfalls of its own teaching.
And the wine will flower in your mouth like a grail
that's given up preaching
and finally found its own voice
like a bird returning to a tree at nightfall
to call out in its solitude
to the stars as they appear
we are here we are here we are here
where we belong
at peace with everything we're missing
everything we long for
everything we are and are becoming
that overtakes us like music from within
transforming the silence into song
the water into wine
small beings into a big space
looking into the passing face
of everything's that's mortal about us
with our eyes fixed upon the divine
not to see it in any one place
but with the presence of mind
to be wholly and impurely not that not this
without anywhere a trace of ultimacy
in this world that we take for a sign
we are here we are here we are here
and things are as they are
not as they must be.
Nothing got here legally.
What's the expanding universe
if not a refugee in its own country
somehow exiled from itself for reasons
only it can express?
Citizen Universe
show me your papers
your paintings your poems
show me how you dance on your own
show me how you put your children to sleep
show me how you bar an F chord
show me what you weep for
what you delight in
what you esteem
what you despise
what you ignore
what darkness of yours
feeds that inferno of stars above you
burning its constellations like passports
that aren't going anywhere
show me the black mirror
that says you don't belong here
like some misplaced night of the full moon
not marked on any calendar
show me the law of being human
that says this little piggy has one
and this little piggy has none
show me where it's written
the guest shall turn strangers away
from his host's generosity
like a dog at the door
that bares its teeth at the table
show me the home-made honey
of your wisdom
show me the dead lamps
of the apocalyptic fireflies
that designed your chaotic cosmology
by plagiarizing the light
to prove the stars
don't reserve
a space in the universe
for any insight of yours.
Nothing got here legally.
No one followed a coyote or a law
to cross the border
into this insurgency of being
no one checked the colour of your eyes
or profiled the light
to see if they were fit for seeing.
You don't need a constitution
to verify your liberty.
Well before you were born
you were free and ever shall be
to belong here as we all do
to pursue what makes us
sad mad bad or happy
the way we all got here
the way we all get through
the way we're all alone here together
with one another as we are with you
as we are with her and him and me
as we are with everything
as we are with ourselves
when we don't know who we're becoming
when we don't know the stranger on the bridge
watching the water flow
that's waiting to greet us on the other side
in the only way the unblighted heart of reality
we're all looking for
like blood on a grail-quest for our humanity
accepts the darkness that seeks us out
like a miraculous elixir of insight
so the kingdom won't fail
so the garden doesn't ask us
for a green card to know and grow
in the only way we truly belong here
in the only way we know how to be
so the lifeboat we're all in
like the same boundless mind
is always as full
as it is empty
so no one gets left out at sea
like a wave that couldn't be saved
and no one gets in
who doesn't know how to swim
the way we all got here
and continue to be
all these thresholds of the sea
that steps across us
even as we move like waves
breaking discipline with our own continuum
creatively.
Just to be here.
Just to crawl up on the shore of a new medium
like a refugee planting flowers
we brought from home
hoping we'll still be here
to watch them bloom.

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Some People Are Wrong

Some people are wrong
I think Christina is hot
She is so gorgeous
Full figured women are great
More cushion for the pushin

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