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Past imperfect

My past has made me. It is what it is. I thank the good and the bad for it has molded me. It has made me into this unique creature that has never existed and will never will. This is me. The raw and the authentic. The whole and the broken. I am not perfect - very far from it. I feel like I have this hole inside me. And I don't know what to fill it with. I know nothing external can fill it. I have to fill it. But my attempts to fill it with things give rise to other beautiful things. To poems, writings, ideas and knowledge seeking. It takes me places. So why should I give it up. I am this way. I accept me. The good, bad and the disgusting. And I show it. If you don't like it, you are free to go. If you can't handle it, you are free to leave. But I am here. I will be around for me. Always. Till my last breath.

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