the trouble i have had, standing in line, waiting in these rows, just to be picked out like some school yard game. where the boy in the designer jeans pulls on our strings, oh how we are pantomimes awaiting for our turn to be called over. if only i could raise my arms and cut the thread, be free to walk along some other path, only to find myself
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maybe because i've been agnostic for so long i forget what it's like to believe in a god
"prayed to a god he did not believe"-that is my favorite, it's simple yet means something to me
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