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Everything makes sense. I love my life.
I'm a genius and perfect parent and a
motivational speaker and **** star.
I split atoms and human nature.
I paint you beautiful and real as
impossible as that might seem.
Take a step into the sunshine,
lean into the light.
Walk where the air is fine,
battle to stay where’s right.
Each heart-true step will take you
on your journey, this you know—
believe in this and trust that you’ll
get where you need to go.

Love all the people on your path,
on your journey there.
They will often show you grace
as you act with truth and care.
Just some thoughts, after getting back on my windy path today.
if my wishing for myself makes you insecure,
then baby you need to fall in love
with yourself rather than chasing
someone else's 'the one'
choosing yourself should be a trend!
I've no trouble's
Rubbing it off my nose
Once in the noose
Finders keepers.
I take a look through the picture book at scenes of times gone by,
ladies in crinolines like statues and heroines and men looking sombre, moustachioed hombres of the gentlemen variety,
children with faces pressed up to the windows in countrywide mansions, I wonder if that's how they lived.

And there are other images of urchins by lampposts on street corners in cities without any names, old men in Trilbys and women in aprons, ragged dogs with nowhere to go, cats on the railings and rats in the gutters,

in the countrywide mansions, they close all the shutters and pretend that this doesn't exist.
There hangs a clock on the wall
Behind it lives a mouse, so incredibly small
When the clock strikes five
In its hole the mouse does dive
And through the wall continues to crawl

In the building the mouse proceeds to creep
Up support beams so very steep
It continues to explore
From the ceiling to the floor
Not making a sound nor squeak.

While the household restfully sleeps
The mouse continues to sneak
He seeks out every little treasure
Food of even the smallest measure
Crumbs that provide plentiful eats  

When the clock signals the morn
The mouse is completely worn.
He returns to his bed
To rest his weary head
Neither happy nor terribly forlorn
In the cold of night
When I was a young boy
My greatest wish was to be a star
Not a star as in a celebrity
But an actual star above your head
In the sky
Like nature’s best
I’ve always yearned
To be free
A beacon of light
Standing tall
So full of love
A clear path for others to seek
Guiding light shines so bright
A refuge for those enduring much pain
To be someone’s wishes
If I can reach for whatever
It will reach for me too.....
Nothing has changed!
you used to make me float and fly
now your dose don't even hit
and somehow I don't even get high
what happened, ****?
Words are at our command to express meanings as we see fit.

In censoring words we are no longer in command of them,
but they are of us.
Not being able to use all words is like not being able to paint with all the colours available.
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