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Love cannot be quantified.It's not the number that came before,How many may come after,Not the hours that you spend,Or the money that you don't.Love i..
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To make sense of what it means to be aliveYou've got to forget the equations you were taughtIn a school system that you watched fall apart,and it'll n..
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It was the beginning of 2011, and news reports of mass animal die-offs, deaths without explanation, were everywhere. This poem happened shortly after.
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His skin, a canvas, painted in places he's lovedWhere he remembers the sun. Asks now,Where has it gone? He's cold.Could not, will notBreak the ice.Now..
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My catharsis.
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