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Return to Cups |
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Lies, easy to spill and difficult to organize |
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Better left behind the tongue and played out in elaborate fantasy |
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A lesson I learned at a young age where I was merely labeled precocious |
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I'm whole enough, traveled enough and have lived enough |
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My history far more entertaining than any lie I could conceive |
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Lies were escape and denial back in those early days |
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A luminous blanket obscuring the isolated realities of my childhood |
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Lies from a child are complex wishes boldly extended |
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Playing out a life imagined sometimes simply makes it so |
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Optimism and my imagined world propelled me from my toddler barricade |
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Stirred adrenaline as I climbed a stool to unfasten the lock of the back door |
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An inner sanguine energy protected and blinded me with happy infinity |
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Shedding my diaper in the driveway I sprinted naked down the road |
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Freedom unadorned is a spacious world of possibility flanked by blue above & green below |
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Free will is the sun heating my face & the buzz of insects as I run happily to the future |
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This is a defining moment, my gold standard of exhilaration -- I still see it and hear it |
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A measurement for abstract comparison --- buoyant and insistent as an innocent child |
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I relate all to well to that valiant naked tot - as we freely march forward |
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This inspiration is an emotion thin yet resilient, sublime ---and so pure |
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I had conviction and commitment to myself then, as I do now |
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So maybe in the end, the world is kind and karmic rules apply |
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When its over, I’ll most likely be naked, optimistic and staring it in the eye |
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