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The next time we meet, I may be someone else. Extra thick, light in weight. Resourced to fit purpose.
There was a boy who stowed A box of lollipops beneath his bed.Each evening he would take one outAnd gently scratch its head.And then the pop, so gleeful,would reveal its great surpriseA flower bloomed around its headAnd danced before his eyes.Each
It burns brighter than passion and higher than dreams a red brain, holding so much more than it seems. Beneath its front it boils and bubbles, melting our most hideous troubles. 
for as long as i can remember, my father has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. it’s not bodybuilding because the diabetes breaks everything   he creates. he doesn’t walk very far—or at all, for that
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