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I wrote a poem about the rules for poets:
Your poem.
It sucks.
Because you used rhymes.
Your poem.
It sucks.
Out my soul. And mind.
Your poem
Reminds me
of my ex
who
was crap at sex
and we spent endless nights
working together
hearts beating as one
writing poems
about the burning sun
we wrote ten a night
and then we’d fight
and now he’s gone.
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The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity Amelia Earhart
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