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Who doesn't want a storybook life? Just write it all in and cut out the strife Who said that you can't write your own story Like a Disney hero you can rise to glory No such thing as fate no such thing as a curse
So many tools At my disposal The wings of Garuda A powerful parrot We speak back and forth Discussing our days
Different but similar, in distinct scenes Interpretations of that which is “eternal” Some of the bounded in settings infernal, Variations seen      In the beginning, man created ideas
I continuously shuffle the cards of life Searching for the answer of my wife On a rotary phone in Cleveland   But only receive a land line From Colorado this time So without a doubt you know 
Creed   I write in an ink Encapsulated in plastic foreign to the usual mold. Shaped by a known, yet  Overlooked manufacturer.   I remember only certain Aspects of life matter.
Based on a Hindu legend.   As a young girl, you chased moksha— the sky lantern—through the slums barefoot,  ruffled swags of damp towels as you dove into the 
He wanted her to heal his heart She wanted to give him her heart   He has felt pain and so has she She does not fear it, for it is how she can see See into his soul and deeply understand
How I am flawless? What a bore, These weak and fragile ideals, We hold them close, To build ourselves up, But the world in its flawless heart, Strikes us into chaos   How am I flawless?
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