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poetry

if the ceiling of my room was outter space

if the ceiling of my room was outter space

if the ceiling of my room was outter space,
i’d have stopped them, the gravity under my
bed, from pulling me,
down, again and
again,
if the ceiling of my room was outter space,
a door, a pathway to other galaxies,
i’d then take my plant
along with me, my new fried,
who sits by the balcony, quietly,
everyday,
it gives me joy, to see him grow.

if the ceiling of my room was outter space,
i’d have stopped bottling up storms of
emotions within.

if the ceiling of my room..

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