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May Sarton, from "The Autumn Sonnets", Selected Poems
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The desire to be loved is the last illusion
Give it up and you will be free.
Margaret Atwood
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Seeing the world through the prism of our past,
This ain't the first time nor the last.
Days and months we run through the seasons,
Thousands of questions but a handful of reasons.
Walking all red fighting thyself with glaives,
Longing to live a thousand lives.
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[shaking myself by the shoulders] i will get better. i will continue. i have no goddamn choice
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October was supposed to be a courtyard full of flowers, why am I getting thorns and pricks on every step I walk?
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Are you okay? How was your day?
I respond, I'm fine.
Beyond the words I just smile.
They don't see me the way I see me.
I silently wish to run away and hide
Yet I still say, I'm fine.
My loved ones assume I'm angry most of the time.
I wish I could speak clearly, some things stay inside
At the end of each a day, I still say I'm fine.
I'm bound to fear and suppressed emotions
How come things get to stay the same?
The world around me is still growing
I doubt they'll remember my name.
But it's okay, things will be alright.
And if they're not, I'll be fine.
I tried
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" रंजिश ही सही दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ
आ फिर से मुझे छोड़ के जाने के लिए आ "
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Simp aisa kro chand pe jaisa koi insaan insaan pe bhi na krta ho






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जाने वो कैसे लोग थे जिनके प्यार को प्यार मिला |
Jaane woh kaise log thee jinke pyaar ko pyaar mila.
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The fact that most men will get their first and only set of flowers at their funeral.
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The burden of existence. The greed of running after all moons. The avarice of wanting all and doing none. Is this what modern prison looks like?
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