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I've been striving for the best
to rise above
to soar and be
But who cares?
What will it matter
30 years from now
that, yeah, when I was
16, I liked to write.
I was a poet
a novelist
a songwriter.
No one cares.
They tell me to look at
what's there-
How many people
try to do this.
How many succeed.
Its not practical.
I won't make it.
I'm nothing.
There's no such thing
as posthumous fame
there's only
the internet.
I'm a little bird
to stay in the air but
I'm falling
Slowly cracking
almost broken.
Fearing the rocky bottom
that seems so dangerously
But who cares?

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