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Do you expect me To believe That I will think of the breeze When I’m bursting with seared ash? Do you expect me To lose myself Into the galaxy
So I just did a spoken word poetry today during Sunday Service and guess what? It was bad, literally bad. Bad from the compostion to the articulation of thoughts to the actual voicing out of the words.
What to do with all the hurt? When inside you're fit to burst. You're supposed to be so strong. You're supposed to not be wrong. Put a face that betrays the truth. Give an air of being aloof.  
We as human beings tend to focus on the negative instead of the positive. We usually can't help it, it's form of habit. A habit passed down since, well... forever. Sometimes though...
When you ask a child "what do you want to be" Their answer naivee lays on the heart and warms you, The smile on your face starts to curve even higher and you think how sweet.
Hand clenched, nerves tingled, emotions stirred Eyes tired from the long night of drunken celebration My gown swayed and my tassel knocked against my ear Name is called and a small cheer is heard at a distance
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