(1)
I am standing on an upturned bin
looking through the little barred window
into the room that I was born in
and everyone is happy
and everyone is asleep
and I pray to a god who keeps on disappearing
and I ask the silent shattered stars above
to make sure that the baby in that room
turns out to be nothing
like me.
oh my,,,,,
so full of imagery.
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Of course the irony being the nothing of you is the total opposite. You are the EVERYTHING beauty you are the EVERYTHING
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