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In this poem, The name of my crush has been redacted And replaced with the word "god": God, you’re hot But that’s another poem. God, let me write poems about you.
America, The Beautiful? Home of the enslaved, Where those who are brave, Are said to have no brain, Where freedom of speech is limited,
Help! I did it again. I walked to the priest with my face reflecting pain. I said to him, “Priest, you are the modern quintessence of Cain!” “Priest, you are this society’s pain!”
Maximillian was a boy and oh, how coy was this boy to alleviate his cordoroy! It's almost scary to think of Teresa and Mary as an audience not contrary to the values Max deluged
As omniscient as you are I find myself alone I find no solace in your temple nor is it in your hand Its no longer in your eyes or your voice or your smile I find no home in your arms