critical.
I’ve been given no choices, yet, I still must choose.
Though there is no contest here, apparently I lose.
Twisting my thoughts until they’re black and blue.
Damn perfectionist, I was never good for you.
critical.
I’ve been given no choices, yet, I still must choose.
Though there is no contest here, apparently I lose.
Twisting my thoughts until they’re black and blue.
Damn perfectionist, I was never good for you.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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