I didn't know the rarity
Of living life inside a dream.
I didn't see the strange way
That people saw my quiet daze.
...
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I was born to be a drifter, A pretty gypsy, fleeing city to city. A life on the run In the company of strangers. But it's hard to be me When they love me so. It's hard to be free a slow charming poem., ..meandering like the girl herself a potpourri of ideas and visuals tied together like a bouquet.. nice liked
A deep revelation of identity. You've broken down in poetical terms your very existence, wrestled with it, struggled against it, defined it, and finally accepted it. A brilliant inquiry on the journey to know ones own self