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I can't write on here. The atmosphere is stifling. Everyone wants the perfect poem. To me poetry is not perfect and I never want it to be that way. They can rise to fame, I need no honor nor glory and if the world ignores me completely...it won't matter because I don't stoop to the grandeur delusions of life's poeticby Oleander on Nov 19 7:39 PM, 400 words. → 7 comments, Add one?
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by Oleander on Dec 22 4:22 PM 2008, In Contemplative, Depression, Diary, First person, Life, Spur of the moment. 19,000 words. Me only.
