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poem

Pop in jay Sang in a gentle breeze  Fox Burrowed  In the morning twilight  Man Stomped through the undergrowth  A lioness  Yawned Showing all her teeth.  Then,  Fragrantly forming  Daisies and poppies bloomed.  Women  Waited With impossible patience.  And angels sang A hymn To a bee.  The dawn  Is ripe. 

myself

I have been very confused by my identity so I am trying to accept and understand myself as a beatnik poet, doing a beyond idea. I'm proud of my life but it wasn't actually all as mysterious as I was thinking. It's all based on scientifically proven facts. So I'm eilis, elle for short. Old identity =false self perception. New identity =emerging and defined by past lives. 

selfie

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me

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me

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selfie

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p!nkspolsia, a beatnik movement

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