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Poetry? NO!

Interested is my look, my demeanor. Unstoppable is my swag, my style as I sit back and smile. I’m the student, your my class, this is English?  I’m thinking Math…as I pass thru the halls with the faces looking sad, is it mad of me to think that a person so unique(who is I, who is me) could put you places with your feet, steadily pacing while I sleep? It’s me, that guy who’s so fly can, u try just to find there’s no Y to the X’s my mind ‘cause I do this all the time…Shine.

HMMMPH - but  no worries it’s okay with me that you may never get to see, all the beauty that’s beneath….The Sun…

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Your secrets are my stories, I tell them everyday, you try to keep them private while I put them on display. Like that time you were down and Cabo and you had too much too drink, passed out, woke up early with that girl(her name was Shirley),  Shirley Burly wasn't’ cute, Shirley Burly was a man, you could see it in his/her hands, yet you had to have a dance, now you’re walking around burning, something leaking in your pants...

And YES - I know that was a secret, but I in my defense I feel I must say: That if it were a secret, then why’d you tell me anyway?

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