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Marin

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

5 poems·Since April 2013
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Wildfire

April 19, 2013
There's nothing I can do Destroying, raging, it grew An unlucky number I drew Away from home I flew My stomach felt like glue The people left were few Those behind it slew It came out of the blue We didn't have a clue How fast it did brew It died fast too What's left, and who? Out with the old, in with the new.
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