July 21, 2017
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I guess I don’t mind the way that my brain unravels itself
Or hate the way that my heartbeat is automatic 
And after a certain amount of time the ringing in my ears becomes a bird call
The tingling in my hands and feet; a massage
My rusty gears are always oiled by society’s expectations
I can teach the clown to paint himself a smile
The wife to stay in the kitchen
The man to suppress his feelings
But some days I just don’t feel like it…

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