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Everything we were,
Everything we are,
And who we become,
Isn’t our hand to play.
What is so terribly wrong
With us being who we are?
Why do we try to become
Someone we are not?
We are the same species,
We are the same rock,
What’s there to be ashamed of our gifts?
It must be nature’s fault
That built us this way,
And for waking us up so early
On Christmas Day.
Every single place
Where your heart isn’t,
Is invalid.
Then whatever you do,
Doesn’t happen.
If we fall back in ourselves,
And don’t find what we are supposed to,
If we roll back inside our heads,
And close our eyes to things that are meant to,
Then we are embarrassed of our existence,
And we rue the day we were born –
Just imagine the pain of our creator,
If you say that out loud.
Why are we mortified to be here?
It is our ground, after all,
Such a beautiful world!
Hold me, dear,
Closer to your breath,
You haven’t seen everything yet,
You are afraid of what you might find,
If you open your eyes,
I might take you to places,
Where I head out at night,
To show you a dawn that awaits
For every crazy eye,
You might deplore the day I met you,
But at least you’d be thankful for being here.

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