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Artist
My days have grown old and cold,
joy like a room I no longer enter.
A body split at the seams keeps me grounded,
but inside — a mind on fire, plans like paper birds.
I have more to offer than my cover shows;
my heart is loud, my ambition louder.
Let me step back into the game:
the score isn’t decided.
I am not done.
Still alive. Still kicking.
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