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SPIT OUT THE BRIGHT COLORS painted on the unknown to make it marketable to the masses, the mugged middle-class. SPIT OUT ONTO A CANVAS make it out of imagination.
I am a poem without pretense.
If there's one phrase that's hard to say, If there's something we don't want to think about each passing day If there's something that would make some of us want to cry,
Wishing upon peace,  hoping no one sees me, Taking a deep breath, hoping no one hears me, Walking through school campus vastly, having fear of being stopped, Smiling, but speaking no words,
Life is our ball
The only way, it seems,
      as I lay Prints, forward; the distance   as I drift, lone wolf,
You see that kid over there? His dad abandoned him when he was only five , and his mom killed herself when he was just ten Hes a foster child. His foster parents beat him. He smells like alcohol and weed
  once, twice, again
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